


Somnus

by FalconLux



Series: W.I.P. Collection [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: All non-con is non-explicit, Chan 15, M/M, Manipulative Dumbledore, No non-con between Harry/Tom, Rating May Change, Ravenclaw Harry, Socially Inept Harry, Tags May Change, Work In Progress, title may change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2020-12-16 08:23:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 56,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21033206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalconLux/pseuds/FalconLux
Summary: Life with the Dursleys was never easy, but when Harry was eight, it took a turn for the worse. By the time Hagrid shows up to deliver his letter and take him shopping, Harry has retreated into himself. A very reclusive Harry Potter arrives at Hogwarts and his need to protect himself may just thwart Dumbledore’s every plan for the Boy-Who-Lived.WIP. This is not finished. It may never be finished. Read At Your Own Risk.





	1. Year One

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Harry Potter and I don't make any money from this. PLEASE DON'T REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE, but feel free to rec and link to your heart's content.

Harry managed to find his way onto Platform 9 ¾ by sheer luck. After searching to no avail for what seemed like forever as the clock ticked closer and closer to departure time, he’d gone to lean against a column to wallow in his misery.

...and he’d gone right through the column and tumbled onto his aching bum on the other side. After tentatively sneaking back to get his trunk, he’d ducked nervously through the crowds of students and parents onto the train. He’d found a compartment that was still empty and engaged the lock on the door before settling in to read.

He was so relieved that he’d made it onto the train. He’d been very afraid that he wouldn’t. Vernon had threatened on and off ever since he’d got home from Diagon Alley, to not let him go. And then that morning he’d begged his uncle to take him to the train station. Instead, he’d gotten a sneer and exact change for the train into London followed by the tube to King’s Cross. Dragging his trunk to the train station in Surrey had taken so long he’d thought for sure he wouldn’t make it at all, but he’d gotten to King’s Cross with close to an hour to spare.

Then, of course, he’d spent more than half that time panicking about not knowing how to reach the magical platform.

But he’d made it. He was here. He was going to Hogwarts. He was away from the Dursleys. He was safe.

He fought down tears of relief, curled his legs up on the bench with him, and focused on his book. Mostly, when Hagrid had taken him to Diagon Alley to get his things, he’d only bought what was on his list. The exception to that was at the bookshop. Harry had always liked books, but he’d come to like them a lot more in the last few years. 

He’d been eight when it started. He’d get sleepy really early sometimes, for no reason, and he’d wake up a long time later. He’d wake up hurting in places that didn’t make any sense, and covered in bruises that he didn’t remember getting.

He’d started searching the library for an explanation since he knew asking the Dursleys would only get him smacked and sent to his cupboard. Asking any other adult would be many times worse if it ever got back to the Dursleys. They’d always smacked him about a bit when he got out of line, but the only true beatings he’d ever gotten was when someone starting asking questions about what his life at home was like. The first time was when he first started school and the nice teacher had asked about a bruise on his arm. He hadn’t realized there was anything wrong with admitting that his uncle had gotten mad at him when he burned his toast and he’d grabbed his arm when he took him to his cupboard.

Vernon had beat him until he passed out that night and it had been two and a half weeks before he was healed enough to go back to school.

So, he knew not to ask adults. Books, though, seemed safe. For a while, he’d thought maybe he had hemorrhoids with the unexpected pains he kept getting in his bum. Lots of reading and some careful exploration with his fingers and a mirror had convinced him that that wasn’t right. He’d spent months looking before finally giving up with the elementary library and venturing out to the public library one Saturday when he was kicked out of the house for the day.

After hours of searching, he’d discovered a book about gay sex that had put him on the right path.

From there, it had been a lot of conjecture until he’d finally figured out what he thought was going on. Nothing since then had led him to believe otherwise.

Two or three days a week, Petunia would give him a cup of tea. It was the only time in his whole life he could remember drinking anything but water, so it was already suspicious. And every single time after drinking this tea, he would get sleepy no matter what time of day it was or how he’d slept the night before. He never woke up until many hours later, and every single time he did, he woke up hurting in places that he shouldn’t be hurting. Covered in new bruises and sometimes even bite marks. His bum aching and burning at the same time. His throat usually hurt pretty bad, too, like he was sick but without a cough or stuffy head.

He’d spent as much time as possible at the public library since then, and he’d read a lot about how gay sex worked. From the books he’d read, he knew that it wasn’t supposed to be something bad. It was supposed to happen between two adults who liked each other and both wanted it.

He’d also read books about rape and he knew that that’s what had happened to him. He knew he wasn’t a slag or a whore or a slut – what the Dursleys had started calling him in addition to Freak and Boy after this all had started. He’d looked those words up in the dictionary at the library so he knew what they meant for real. The only word he could use to describe what he was had been was “victim” and he didn’t much care for that, so he mostly just tried to ignore it.

Once he’d figured out for sure what was happening to him, thinking about it had been the last thing he’d wanted to do. It wasn’t like there was anything he could do about it, and sometimes, when he was drinking his tea, he felt like letting it happen was almost like giving his permission and maybe he really was a slag...

So, he tried not to think about it. Reading books helped to take his mind away from his thoughts. He had to be careful with his library books so Dudley didn’t get hold of them and destroy them just to spite him. It had only happened once and it had taken him a month to collect enough change in the laundry to pay for it so he could take out more books. He only took out one at a time so he could hide it easier and he usually only got to the library once a week, which meant he usually read each book several times over before returning them.

He’d bought thirteen extra books at Flourish & Blotts. Of course, he hadn’t gotten to read any of them yet. They’d been locked in the cupboard under the stairs the moment he’d returned to Number 4 on his birthday and he’d not gotten them back until his uncle had shoved a handful of notes at him and all but threw him out the door. He intended to read as much as possible before reaching Hogwarts, which is why he was so relieved the compartment door had a lock. He didn’t want to have to deal with anyone on the ride.

He spent the entire ride that way, ignoring any knocking on the door and making only one quick trip to the loo, which he’d managed without speaking to or even really looking at anyone, much to his relief.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of people – really it wasn’t – he was just happier when he could avoid them. Kids were just so stupid, and he was including those quite a bit older than him. They talked about stupid stuff and fought about stupid stuff and played stupid games and cared about stupid things. Even when he’d first started school and properly met other kids for the first time, he’d found them difficult to understand. Many years of reading later, he had an intellectual grasp on the fact that it was their innocence and naivety that he found so difficult to tolerate. Most of them had never experienced anything really bad, and those that had, had mostly had parents around to cuddle them and ease their fears.

Harry had grown up despised and he’d been made to understand the harsh realities of the world from an early age. Then three years ago, they’d started...

No. He wasn’t going to think about that.

The point was that he didn’t like kids because they were stupid and petty and ridiculous. And he definitely didn’t like adults because they all treated him exactly like all the stupid children they were used to seeing.

There was a time when he’d have done anything for a parent or for a friend. He understood now that no adult would ever understand him enough to respect that he wasn’t a stupid little kid and so living with one would never be like he’d used to dream of. Oh, it would probably be a lot better than the Dursleys, but not the perfect dream he’d once imagined. As to friends, well, a friend would have to understand him, so that made it pretty much impossible.

He’d gotten over that realization years ago and learned to content himself with books for companionship.

When they arrived at the school, Harry followed Hagrid and the other first years down to the lake and boarded a boat with three other students that he honestly could not have identified later if his life depended on it. He kept his head down, hunched in on himself, and it worked. The others talked quietly amongst themselves but seemed content to ignore Harry as he was ignoring them.

They could see the school properly for the first time as they crossed the lake and Harry tilted his head to the side enough to see it without actually raising his head. It was huge and looked like nothing less than a grand castle straight out of a fairy tale. 

It would have given him more hope if Harry had believed in fairy tales. As it stood, he mostly just figured it would be huge and drafty and easy to get lost in. Still, that did have the upside of meaning there would be lots of room for him to avoid other people.

At the school, Hagrid transferred them to a severe-looking woman identified as Professor McGonagall, who led them to an area that must have been right outside where the other students were gathering, going by the noise through the closed door.

The arrival of a small group of ghosts had made his blood run cold for a few seconds but he had enough experience containing flinches and noises of distress that he did not outwardly react, and he soon realized that the ghosts were not a danger to the students but apparently a regular part of life here.

The Great Hall, when they were finally led inside, was huge, with a ceiling that looked like the night sky and about a million floating candles that didn’t seem to be dripping wax on anyone, oddly enough, though none had a dish to catch it. There were a truly intimidating number of students crammed onto the four big tables running the length of the room, and a perpendicular table at the end of the room filled with intimidating-looking adults.

Harry quickly decided that he hated this room, but not nearly so much as he hated how everyone was staring at him and the other first years as they made their way to the raised floor at the front of the room where the teacher table was. He did his best to disappear within the crowd of first years, which wasn’t too difficult since he was the shortest of them and much more inclined to be still and quiet than the rest.

The hat sang a song about the four Houses and then McGonagall started calling out names. Harry’s heart sank further when he realized he was going to have to go in front of everyone to sit on that stool and be stared at until he was sorted.

And how did it decide who went where? Did everyone get a House for sure or was there a chance that if someone didn’t fit in any House they’d get sent away? Would he fit anywhere? Would the hat know what he’d allowed to happen to him with the Dursleys? Would it turn him away because of that?

By the time his name was called, he was trembling head to toe with nerves and his stomach was twisting in a most ominous manner. He silently prayed that he wouldn’t be sick in front of everyone as he scurried to the chair and sat down, keeping his eyes down so he could try to pretend there weren’t hundreds of people staring at him. He was breathing too hard and he tried to slow it down while he waited the relative eternity it took the teacher to put the stupid hat on his head.

“Hm... Difficult. Very difficult,” he heard the hat say very quietly and he cringed, hoping it would hurry already.

“Plenty of courage,” it observed and Harry barely held back a hysterical laugh. He was feeling a very long way from brave at the moment. The hat, if it noticed this, did not comment. “An impressive mind, too, and a desire to learn. Cunning, but not ambitious. Hard-working, but not loyal. Where to put you?”

“Please, just put me somewhere I can disappear,” Harry whispered fervently. He’d never wanted to disappear so badly in his life. Not even when Aunt Petunia called him for tea.

“Disappear, huh? Well, there’s only one choice for you then. Better be, RAVENCLAW!”

Weak with relief that he wasn’t going to be sent away and that he was almost done being the center of attention, Harry returned the hat to the sour-looking teacher and stumbled slightly on his way down to join the table that was clapping. The first years seemed to be gathered all together at the end of the table, so Harry went there, though he moved to the very end, putting a little distance between him and everyone else. He folded his arms in front of him on the table, then buried his face in them and tried hard not to cry in sheer relief. He hoped that no one would try to talk to him. He didn’t think he could handle it right now.

Thankfully, the other Ravenclaws seemed to be able to read his “please leave me alone” body language just fine and no one tried to talk to him, though a lot of people were staring.

When they were finally shown up to Ravenclaw Tower and then to their dorms, Harry crawled immediately into his bed, pulled the curtains shut, and silently cried himself to sleep. He was far too overwhelmed by the stress of everything leading up to his being here to even try to hold back the tears. He was just so grateful for the curtains that gave him the privacy to do so without all his dormmates thinking he was a huge baby.

*** * * * ***

Harry’s first week at Hogwarts was both better and worse than he’d imagined. It was better because the library had turned out to be huge and full of so many books he was sure he wouldn’t be able to read half of the ones he wanted before he graduated. It was worse because everyone seemed really obsessed with that Boy-Who-Lived nonsense. They pointed and stared and whispered as he passed in the corridors and even in the Ravenclaw common room. Meals were almost physically painful and he had to struggle to eat until his stomach was full when his nerves had ruined his appetite before he even entered the Hall. He only ate as much as he did because he’d been deprived of food often enough in his life to have learned better than to miss a chance to eat when it was offered.

Classes were kind of surprisingly boring. It baffled him a bit that these teachers had found a way to make _learning magic _boring, but they’d done it. Droning lectures about tiny pieces of magical theory that didn’t seem to make sense without some broader context and practical lessons learning spells that seemed to have almost no practical purpose at all made the entire process feel nearly as mundane as learning math or social studies in muggle school. Really, what possible need would they ever have to turn a matchstick into a needle? Perhaps if he regularly carried a pocketful of matchsticks then it would be handy to be able to turn them into things he needed. Considering, however, that their Charms book had a spell to light a small fire, it seemed stupid to be carrying around matchsticks. Now, if they were taught to turn summer clothes into winter clothes, that would be useful. Or to make food from other things. 

History was completely horrible, taught by a ghost who didn’t even seem to really know they were there. It made Harry wonder how accurate his lessons even were. Once he realized that the ghost teacher didn’t notice if anyone was paying attention or doing other things, he started bringing to class books that he wanted to read and just ignoring Binns completely.

Herbology was a little interesting because at least Harry could understand how knowing about plants would be a good thing to know. Plants could be food or ingredients for potions and therefore were something he figured he’d want to have in the future when he got his own home. Its usefulness was so far in the future though, that it was sometimes hard to get himself to focus on that class when there were so many more interesting things he wanted to learn first.

Astronomy, in his opinion, was a waste of time he could be sleeping, so he made a deal with himself to do just enough to make sure he passed the class, but not worry beyond that. He wasn’t about to risk failing classes and maybe getting kicked out of school. Or having them contact the Dursleys with their concerns. The very idea was terrifying. He couldn’t imagine what they’d do to him if the “freaks” sent an owl to them to complain about how stupid Harry was.

DADA was maybe the worst class because something between the teacher’s stuttering and the overwhelming garlic smell meant Harry got a headache in every single class. The things they were learning there _were _interesting, though. Harry just preferred to learn them from his book in his dorm room at night rather than trying to follow the teacher’s stuttering lectures while his head was pounding.

Potions was easily Harry’s favorite class because potions were something that Harry could see being very immediately useful and most of the specific potions they learned in class were actually useful ones. They weren’t all things he needed right away, but they were things that he might need. Like a cure for boils. If he ever got boils, he’d like to be able to cure them without going to the school nurse, who frankly terrified him. He was so afraid she’d notice something that painted the Dursleys in a bad light and then she’d contact them or like Child Services would contact them and then they’d beat him so bad the next time he saw them.

Potions, like Snape had said their first day of class, could do almost anything, and Harry spent a large amount of his extra reading on potions books. He’d learned a lot about potions because of that. Not just about how to make them, but about the things that could be made with them. Potions to regrow bones, or heal wounds without scarring, or wash away bruises in a matter of hours. Potions to heal sickness, replace a night of sleep, or even fill an empty stomach with everything a full meal could provide. If he could find a way to brew some of these potions and hide them on him when he went back to the Dursleys, he could make it through the whole summer without starving or hurting very much at all. He could have the energy to get his chores done on time.

The downside of potions was Snape. The man seemed to think Harry smelled bad or something with how he was always sneering at him and keeping a healthy distance. He was always harsh with Harry’s potions, but since Harry usually knew what he was doing in that class and rarely made mistakes on his potions, the man didn’t have too much to complain about. After a lifetime with the Dursleys, Harry was hardly going to be frightened of the man for being a little harsh when he never hit Harry or even seemed like he wanted to. 

It might have helped that Harry always kept his head down and was never less than polite to the meanest professor at Hogwarts. He knew better than to antagonize people predisposed to dislike him. It never ended well.

When he wasn’t in class or meals, Harry spent all of his time in the quietest corner of the library he could find or tucked into his bed with the curtains drawn. He avoided the common room as much as possible due to the staring, but the library was only open until eight in the evening and sometimes he got stared at there, too.

His classmates mostly seemed to think he was weird. He heard them whispering about him being afraid of his own shadow sometimes, or arrogant other times. They seemed to think he was either afraid of everyone or that he felt he was too good to be around them. It couldn’t just be that he didn’t like people, apparently.

Harry didn’t honestly care if they were whispering about him being a coward or if they were whispering about his supposed defeat of the Dark Lord (he categorically refused to call him by those stupid monikers, but calling him Voldemort was way too controversial for him to want anything to do with that). He suspected they would be gossiping about him whether he was acting “normal” or not, because they were stupid kids that cared about stupid things.

He was slowly learning to ignore them.

At meals, Harry couldn’t bring himself to try any of the drinks besides the water until he’d learned a charm to check for purity in food and drink and make sure nothing had been added to it. The spell actually supplied him a detailed list of ingredients and was meant to protect people with allergies, but it served his purpose. It wasn’t a first-year spell, but after a couple weeks of diligent practice, he managed to master it. He considered it the most important spell he’d learn all year if not his whole time at Hogwarts. Then he was able to try milk for the first time and chocolate milk. He liked both very much. He wasn’t as crazy about the pumpkin juice because it was really sweet – like drinking the pumpkin pie dessert they served. He liked the orange juice and apple juice a lot, though. He also really liked the coffee that was only offered with breakfast and lunch. It was hot, but other than that, nothing like tea. It was bitter by itself, but with a bunch of cream and sugar, it was delicious. Tea, he probably wouldn’t ever be able to think about without feeling ill, much less voluntarily drink.

He tried not to think about going back for the summer and all the tea he’d probably be made to drink.

Flying, he thought, was something that he could really love. Unfortunately, in class, he was too nervous and too busy avoiding everyone else to really enjoy it. He just felt so natural when he was up on a broom. Like it was where he was meant to be.

First years weren’t allowed their own brooms, though, and they weren’t allowed to fly except in class, so he’d have to wait until next year to figure out if it was as great as he thought it could be. He’d have to look into seeing if he could afford his own broom for next year, so he’d always have one when he wanted to fly.

On Halloween, Professor Quirrell came barreling into the Great Hall during dinner, screaming about a troll being in the dungeons, then promptly fainted straight away. Dumbledore sent them all back to their dormitories, which seemed insane, since Slytherins and Hufflepuffs both had their common rooms in the dungeons, but Harry thought that maybe there was like a back way in that would be safer. At least, he hoped so.

Other than that thought, he tried to focus on making his own way up to Ravenclaw Tower without getting killed and feeling glad he’d not been sorted into Hufflepuff or Slytherin. He remembered what the hat had said. Cunning but not ambitious. Hard-working but not loyal. Honestly, both seemed pretty accurate. His only real ambition had ever been surviving. Any goal beyond that had seemed a pipe dream not worth entertaining since he’d been really little. As to loyalty... Well, when one disliked people in general, loyalty was kind of a non-issue. It’s not like he’d betray people for kicks but... Well, he wouldn’t shout a warning if one of the Dursleys was about to walk in front of a lorry. And he felt no connection to the wizarding world, Hogwarts, or Ravenclaw that would make him favor them over anyone outside those groups. None of them had ever done anything for him. Oh, the wizarding world and Hogwarts, in particular, had gotten him away from the Dursleys, but it wasn’t like they were doing it out of the kindness of their hearts. From what Hagrid had said, he’d been automatically enlisted for the school upon birth and his parents had paid his tuition in advance. The only people that earned any loyalty in that scenario were his parents, and they were too dead to care what he did now.

At breakfast the morning after Halloween, they learned that Hermione Granger, that uppity Gryffindor know-it-all that was always glaring at him when he did better than her in Herbology and DADA, had been caught by the troll. They didn’t get any details on what happened, but they did learn that she would be spending a whole week at St. Mungo’s, so whatever it was, it had been pretty serious. There had also been fifty points deducted from Gryffindor and there was a rumor that Ron Weasley had been teasing Granger and had been the reason she wasn’t safe in Gryffindor Tower. The redhead was being systematically shunned by his House, though whether it was for getting injured a girl no one seemed to like or for losing fifty points was anyone’s guess.

That sort of willingness to shun him was exactly the reason Harry was so much happier facing the world alone.

After Halloween, things calmed down again – thank goodness – and Harry fell back into a routine of classes, meals, and books and began to feel rather comfortable. Hagrid had tried to get Harry to meet up with him at his hut a few times, but Harry had always sent back a polite refusal. The man was just so big and loud and... okay, as stupid as anyone else. Harry had no desire to be in his company. And what would they even talk about? He was sure it would be terribly awkward. He’d noticed the man giving him sad looks across the Great Hall sometimes, but he just tried not to look at him and it was okay.

His grades, as term progressed, became fairly predictable. He got mostly Es in Herbology and DADA, and As in everything else except for Potions. In Potions, he got Os almost all the time, which was really saying something considering how harsh Professor Snape always was with him.

Honestly, Harry really didn’t care about his grades. He didn’t have much for plans for after graduation. It was just too far away. He had to worry about surviving that long first. He had no plans to get a regular job in the wizarding world. Not with how stupid everyone was about Harry sodding Potter. No, he’d either find some hermit profession he could do from home like brewing potions or writing books, or else he’d just go live full time in the muggle world. If he decided to do the latter, he could always get a job that didn’t require an education while he went about learning a trade. Maybe he wouldn’t even stay in the U.K. He didn’t know yet. It depended on how willing everyone was to leave him alone in the future, he supposed.

So, no. He didn’t care if his grades were impressive, though he did care about learning as much as he could to help him survive. It was just that survival skills weren’t really what the school was focused on teaching. He made sure to get good enough grades to avoid failing any classes. That was his only real concern.

At Christmastime, he got two gifts. A wooden flute from Hagrid, which was surprising and nice and made him feel the smallest bit guilty for not visiting the man or thinking to send him a gift. Only a tiny bit, though. He was hardly obligated to spend time with the man just because he’d known two people Harry couldn’t even remember. 

The other gift was, what turned out to be an invisibility cloak, which had supposedly belonged to his dad, though whoever had had it hadn’t felt the need to sign the note, so he might never know for sure.

He used the cloak to stay later in the library and to traverse busy corridors when he was feeling particularly unwilling to deal with the whispering and pointing and staring. One night, after staying quite late in the library, Mrs. Norris caught him on his way out. He really needed to find a charm to hide his scent, because she was the only creature in the whole school who ever bothered him when he was wearing the cloak.

He quickly darted down the corridor and into a room, closing the door swiftly behind him. He looked around for something to prop against the door since it had a keyhole but no lock he could turn without the key. He swiftly became distracted when he realized that he was in a large room that was entirely empty except for one large thing in the center of the room. It was covered in a dust cloth, which seemed a little strange as nothing in the room was remotely dusty, but he was getting used to wizards being weird.

Harry looked around the room carefully once more, but he was quite alone. He was curious about the thing that had been put in this room all by itself for storage. He briefly considered the wisdom in snooping, but it was probably for the best that he stayed in the room for a few minutes to let Mrs. Norris give up and wander off.

Pursing his lips contemplatively, he cautiously approached the dust cloth. He gripped the bottom, then had second thoughts. He’d need to put the cloth back on afterwards. He didn’t want to make it obvious that someone was snooping here. He read a lot, but he was sure there were ways of tracking someone that he had yet to find, so maybe if they knew someone was here, they could figure out that it had been him!

He almost changed his mind about investigating, but then he remembered that he could just levitate it back into place with the Wingardium Leviosa spell.

Content with that decision, he carefully tugged the cloth away, stepping back a bit to examine what turned out to be a large stand mirror.

Before he could get too involved in examining the frame, he became aware of the fact that the surface of the mirror was not reflecting him and his surroundings, but showing a different scene entirely.

Harry gripped his wand cautiously as he watched, uncertain as to whether this thing was going to be dangerous. He’d almost think that that was impossible since no one would keep something so dangerous in an unlocked room in a school, but this was Hogwarts, after all. A school that apparently kept something deadly down a third floor corridor with nothing but a dire warning to keep students away. A school that somehow had a troll get into it and failed to prevent a first year girl from being gravely injured by it. He wasn’t about to start making assumptions about his safety just because he was in a school.

But then the image settled on a comfortably large cottage on a hill surrounded by nothing but wilderness. Slowly, he could see inside the cottage. He started when he recognized himself, seated on a large, overstuffed sofa in front of a cozy fire, the entire room covered in books of all shapes and sizes and colors. He had a book open in his lap and a content smile on his face.

His wand slowly lowered and he felt the tension go out of his muscles. If he was able to choose between every cottage in the whole world, that is the one he would choose to live in. He could kind of picture it in his head. Winding staircases and big open rooms with lots of windows and books absolutely everywhere. There would be an overlarge balcony from his bedroom on the second floor, with one of those outdoor lounge chairs where he could lie back and watch the stars. There would be a greenhouse out back where he would grow his own vegetables and potion ingredients.

And he knew – he _knew – _that he was entirely alone in that house. There were no people anywhere in the area and no one even knew where to find him. He was completely alone and completely safe and completely free.

He had no idea how long he spent standing there, staring at that image, before he realized what he was doing. He was supposed to be getting to bed before he got caught. With one last, lingering look at the mirror, Harry carefully levitated the cloth back into place and put his cloak over himself before sneaking back to Ravenclaw Tower.

The second term of the year was, thankfully, much less exciting. No trolls, for starters. And he and the rest of the school were getting used to each other. So, they did less whispering and staring and he was getting better at dealing with the crowds in the Great Hall, so eating wasn’t such a challenge anymore, but actually something he could enjoy. He wouldn’t say he was ever comfortable in the Great Hall full of people, but it was becoming more tolerable.

In the middle of May, Hagrid’s hut burned down, which reminded Harry of what Draco Malfoy had told him the first day they met – that he’d heard that sometimes Hagrid got drunk and burned down his hut. No one seemed to know how it had happened, but Hagrid and his dog were both fine and Dumbledore rebuilt the hut in no time.

At the end of June, just after the end of exams, Quirrell vanished without a trace. Rumors abounded about the vampires having caught up with him, or the coward having fled for fear they were getting close. All Harry knew for sure was that all of the teachers seemed very quiet and grim over the final days of the term, and none of them would comment when students asked, stating only that Professor Quirrell would not be returning the following year.

Harry didn’t pay that much attention to it. To him, it seemed like every day after Christmas was just a countdown to having to go back to the Dursleys and as the time came closer, he grew increasingly tense and grumpy. He lost what little patience he’d ever had for dealing with stupid people – children _and _adults – and people started avoiding him and giving him irritated looks, like his temper was a personal insult to them. Like it wasn’t their own fault for bothering him when they had no good reason to be anywhere near him.

He did manage to secretly brew a few simple healing potions in one of the many empty classrooms scattered around the school. He also managed, by the light of a candle while curled up in his bed behind the heavy curtains, to make a small expanded space inside the buckle of the belt he had to wear constantly at the Dursleys because none of his pants would stay up without it. Unfortunately, the meal substitute potions turned out to be too far above his level to manage, but a simple nutrient potion had been doable. He’d also been squirreling away some of the least perishable foods from the Great Hall for the last month. It was mostly apples and nuts, which was why he knew he’d need the nutrient potions. Those potions wouldn’t fill him up, but they would help to keep him healthier despite the small bit he had to eat. He knew the Dursleys would feed him some, too. They seemed to have perfected over the years, exactly how much to feed him to keep him alive and perpetually starving at the same time.

What he dreaded most, of course, was the tea.


	2. Year Two - Part 1

Harry stared blankly at the wall in the bedroom he was allowed to use at the Dursleys. He’d run out of food within two weeks of returning, pain potions before his birthday, and nutrition potions a week ago. It was now somewhere in the middle of August, as well as he could guess. It might be a little later. He wasn’t sure. He’d had a lot of tea this summer. And sometimes he didn’t just sleep several hours. Sometimes he lost a day or more. It was like they were trying to fit a whole year of it into one summer.

Vernon had declared some time ago – Harry wasn’t keeping track of time well enough to know for sure – that Harry didn’t need to go back to Hogwarts. That he’d been “missed” too much over the year and he was just going to stay home from now on.

He didn’t know the date and he didn’t want to miss going back to Hogwarts – couldn't miss it. He was locked in his room almost all the time now. There were a half dozen locks on his door and bars on his window. He was fed cold soup through a cat flap in the door and he had a jug to pee in. He was so glad that he’d convinced Hagrid his relatives wouldn’t let him keep a pet. If he’d gotten an owl like Hagrid had wanted, he was pretty sure the Dursleys would have killed it straight away, but even if they hadn’t, it would surely have starved this summer.

He was let out just once a day to use the toilet, wash up, and dump and rinse out his jug. That would be his only chance to escape.

The next time he was sent to the bathroom, he locked the door and quickly used the toilet because he really did have to go. Then he opened the window and climbed out into the bushes outside. He closed the window behind himself and set off down the sidewalk with only a single, sad glance back toward the house. He’d had to leave everything in his trunk, unable to get to it where it was locked under the stairs. He wished that he’d thought to put his invisibility cloak and his wand into his belt space, but he hadn’t expected to end up running away. He’d been totally focused on food and potions. He’d never imagined that they’d refuse to let him go back for his second year after letting him go his first.

He hadn’t...

He hadn’t planned good enough. And now he was without his trunk or any of his possessions. Once they realized that he was gone, the Dursleys would probably destroy everything.

He felt a pang of sorrow at the thought of losing his wand. He’d really connected with that wand despite the fact that it was apparently related to Voldemort’s wand. He could get another, though. It wasn’t the end of the world. Losing it wasn’t worse than being stuck at the Dursleys all year. He’d miss the cloak, too. It had been really useful. Plus, it was supposedly his dad’s. He wasn’t sure if he believed that completely, though he didn’t know why someone would lie about it and then not even give their name to take credit. He’d miss his photo album most of all. Hagrid had given it to him just before he’d gotten on the train at the end of his first year. It had been the first time he’d seen his parents and some of their friends. Little bits of their life together. They’d loved each other so much. You could see it in every single picture. And they’d loved him. That was apparent in the two pictures at the end that had had him in it. One was of him in Lily’s arms, probably right after he was born. The other was of him and his parents and a cake with one burning candle.

The pictures he would miss the most, but he’d always have his memories of them. He’d spent the entire train ride staring at those pictures.

He wondered if the wizarding world had a way to get a memory out of your head and make it into like a picture or something. He’d have to look it up when he got back to Hogwarts.

Harry stopped at a petrol station and found a map. He wished that he could take the train again, but he didn’t have any money. There were a few galleons in his trunk, but nothing on him. Certainly nothing he could spend with muggles. The Dursleys hadn’t even had him doing the laundry, so he’d been unable to collect their forgotten change. Instead, he procured a scrap of paper and the nub of a pencil from his pocket and made note of the route he’d need to take. It didn’t look too complicated, but it looked like it would take forever. Once he got to London, he could go to Gringotts and get some money. He could only hope that they’d let him without his key. He wasn’t sure.

Then, if he could get some money, he could go shopping and buy new clothes and a wand and all of his school things for the coming year. There was a calendar on the counter by the cashier that said it was August 20th. Later than he’d thought, but not as late as he’d feared. He suspected the school letters had already gone out, which meant he’d probably have to go store to store and ask after supplies for second years, but he was sure he could manage to get everything he’d need.

He’d escaped right after breakfast, which was when he was always let out to use the loo. Right after Vernon left for work and Dudley was usually on the couch watching telly at a deafening volume. It was a good thing it was so early because the walk to London took _forever_. It was afternoon by the time he arrived and he felt ready to collapse. His legs were aching, his feet were sending sharp, shooting pains with every step, and his whole body felt ready to give up. He was so glad that he’d had the food and nutrient potions for at least part of the summer or he was sure he’d never have made it.

Determination and a lifetime of working through pain and exhaustion kept him going through London to Charing Cross Road and along the way he remembered to the Leaky Cauldron. He was so relieved when he walked inside. He badly wanted to sit down and get some lunch – or dinner, really – but that would have to wait until after he’d been to the bank as he had no money with which to buy anything at the moment.

He wrapped his arms around himself self-consciously as everyone looked at him, then timidly approached the bartender, whose name he couldn’t remember. “Excuse me,” he said politely despite the fact that he definitely had the man’s attention – along with everyone else’s. He didn’t know if it was because of his horrible, oversized muggle clothes or because they recognized that he was Harry Potter. “Can you help me through the barrier?”

“Of course, Mr. Potter!” the man crowed and Harry tried not to cringe as he heard the noise level in the pub pick up immediately upon his name being mentioned. Well, anyone who’d not recognized him before certainly had now.

Thankfully, the barman didn’t feel the need to actually speak to Harry as he let him through, and he didn’t ask why Harry needed help when he knew Harry was old enough to have his own wand.

On the other side, Harry made his way as quickly as he could without running to the bank, keeping his head down and trying not to notice if he was being stared at. Merlin, he hated people.

The goblins, he liked better, he decided. They didn’t stare at him or gossip about him – at least not where he could perceive. He found an open teller and waited patiently until the goblin looked at him, then spoke quickly, “Hi. I was wondering if it’s possible to get into my vault without my key?”

The goblin immediately looked extremely annoyed, which Harry wasn’t sure was fair. It wasn’t as though he’d lost his key multiple times, after all. Surely, he was allowed one mistake?

“Name?” the goblin ground out.

Harry had to clear his throat when his first attempt at saying his name came out barely audible. He really wasn’t crazy about saying his name aloud and drawing attention, but he realized that the goblin did need to know who he was to help him get into his vault. “Harry Potter,” he finally managed.

The goblin’s eyes narrowed at him, then, and he grunted as he picked up a tiny bell and gave it a shake. Curiously, it emitted no sound that Harry could hear and he supposed it was some kind of magic. That or it was a sound only goblins could hear, which was possible. “Stonepick will take you back,” he nodded grumpily at another goblin, who stepped forward.

“Thank you,” Harry said, struggling to keep his voice loud enough to be heard. He folded his arms across his chest tightly as he followed the goblin back through a different door than the one he took to his vault last summer. He was led down a corridor with many doors on either side before Stonepick finally stopped in front of one. Rather than knocking, the goblin ran a single fingernail down the door. A call from inside prompted him to open the door. He then stepped back and bowed slightly to Harry before turning and walking back the way they’d come.

Harry swallowed uneasily, realizing that this must be how he got a new key, and cautiously stepped inside the room.

The room itself looked almost alarmingly like a muggle office. There was a large desk in the center toward the back. The walls were filled with bookshelves and there was a counter on one side that held a couple of decanters and a teapot as well as cups and glasses and a glass bucket filled with ice – probably charmed not to melt. The back wall was occupied with cupboards and file cabinets interspersed with bookshelves. The desk was broad and impressive with an inbox and outbox on one corner and a few strange trinkets spread across it.

Harry moved toward the two mid-back armchairs in front of the desk, sliding cautiously into one when the goblin motioned to it.

“Your key, Mr. Potter, is how this bank identifies you. There are many forms of magical disguise, not all of which are detectable by the wards around the bank. For this reason, your key is vital to your ability to access your accounts in any manner. We will, of course, replace your key and discontinue your previous key, though there is a five galleon fee for this service. It will be withdrawn directly from your vault.”

“How...” Harry cleared his throat and tried again – he’d barely spoken since school let out and his voice wasn’t used to working anymore. “How much is a galleon worth compared to British Pounds?”

“The current conversion rate is one galleon to £30.36892,” the goblin replied without so much as a second’s hesitation to summon the number to mind.

Wow. He hadn’t actually asked that question last year and he hadn’t realized that a galleon was worth quite so much. That meant that getting a new key was pretty expensive, but it wasn’t like he had another choice. “Okay,” he nodded.

“You agree?” the goblin asked impatiently.

“Oh, yes. I agree,” Harry replied hastily.

The goblin then drew a small, stone vial from his desk along with a stone bowl covered in runes. He placed them side by side on the desktop, then added a small dagger with a narrow blade. “Put three drops of your blood into the bowl, Mr. Potter.”

Harry swallowed convulsively, not having realized that getting a key involved anything but them making a copy of a key. But, he supposed, if they used the keys to identify the vault holders, then it made sense that they couldn’t give a new key to someone without being absolutely sure it was the right person. Well, at least a tiny cut wouldn’t be too painful.

He picked up the knife and nicked the side of his palm, which he knew wouldn’t hurt nearly as bad as a fingertip. Squeezing out three drops of blood wasn’t difficult, and he let them drop in the bowl as directed, then cleaned the blade on the hem of his shirt before handing it back. He pressed the cut to the same part of his shirt to stem the small amount it was still bleeding.

The goblin pulled the bowl toward him, then opened the vial and poured into the bowl what looked like liquid gold. He put one clawed finger right into the mixture that his brain said had to be hot if it was melted metal, but that didn’t actually seem to emit any heat. The goblin stirred the mixture three times around with his finger, and when he pulled it out, there wasn’t a speck of the gold stuff on him.

The liquid continued to swirl and reduce until it finally settled into the shape of a key in the bottom of the bowl. It sort of shimmered, then settled and the goblin reached in and picked it up. He placed it on the desk in front of Harry and the boy cautiously picked it up. It felt cool and heavy and solid in his fingers. He stared at it a moment before placing it into his pocket and focusing on the goblin again. The goblin was in the process of placing a heavy black book in front of him.

“You may return to the lobby and use your key to request access to your vault now.”

Catching the obvious dismissal, Harry collected the book he was clearly meant to take, then stood from his seat and left the office. He headed straight back to the lobby and found another goblin to approach about accessing his vault. It went much more smoothly when he had a key to offer.

After filling a pouch with coins, Harry made his weary way directly back to the Leaky Cauldron. A room was procured easily, and he took his meal up with him. He barely managed to eat a third of it before passing out from sheer exhaustion.

The early night led to an early morning and Harry ordered breakfast up to his room with the menu provided on the nightstand. He ate quickly and skipped bathing as he only had his one set of dirty clothes to wear anyway, and headed back into the Alley. There seemed to be a lot of people entering the Alley at this hour, so he got through the barrier without asking anyone for help. He supposed people were on their way to work on the Alley maybe.

Looking around, he decided that the luggage shop would be a good first stop as he didn’t want to carry around everything he purchased.

He actually looked around the shop a bit instead of just buying the Hogwarts Special, which actually was on display now as well. After examining some of the bags available, he found himself wondering why anyone would want to buy a big, ungainly trunk. He was looking at a bag right now that would hold twice what his trunk had held, never weigh more than five pounds, and be much more easily carried around as it had a wide strap to sling across his shoulder. Thinking about it, everyone that he knew of had brought a trunk to Hogwarts, and it would surely draw attention if he didn’t have one sitting at the end of his bed. 

On the other hand, there wasn’t a trunk listed on the supply list last year, so they obviously weren’t required. And everyone thought he was a freak because of his antisocial tendencies anyway, so who cared if they stared a little more.

Mind made up, he purchased the bag. Admittedly, it was considerably more expensive than the trunks, so maybe that’s why more people didn’t have them. In his mind, though, seven galleons was more than worth never having to leave anything in his dorm. He’d never have to worry about anyone getting into his things when he wasn’t there and he’d never have to worry about forgetting to bring something needed to class. Also knowing that he could easily take it with him if he had to leave suddenly – like he had the Dursleys – was a huge comfort. He paid almost two galleons extra for anti-theft charms on it, but again, he thought it would be worth it.

Harry followed the same path he’d taken the previous year, starting with Madam Malkin’s. He got a set of a half dozen Hogwarts robes, plus five everyday robes with an equal number of trousers, tunics, and jumpers. He added socks and pants and, on Madam Malkin’s suggestion, a single set of business robes, though he refused her suggestion of dress robes as he couldn’t imagine needing them. The business robes were really just a professional-looking set. What he’d want to wear to a nice restaurant or a trip to the Ministry. All the clothes would grow a couple sizes with him, which made him less uneasy about the expense. He also followed her suggestion for a cobbler a few doors down and got himself a pair of what the proprietor called “all-purpose” shoes, which were supposed to be dressy enough for dress robes, comfortable enough for every-day wear, and durable enough for hard work. They were a little spendy, but not as expensive as buying three or four pairs, and they were supposed to grow four whole sizes with him. And they _were _insanely comfortable, which he didn’t think was just compared to the ratty, oversized hand-me-down trainer’s he’d been wearing the last three years.

Once he had his clothes, he continued following the path he’d taken with Hagrid. He had to buy things like scales and telescope and cauldron and gloves again as well as the items he’d need new for this year. He spent a long time browsing at the bookshop and bought many more books than he was required, but he needed something to do if he was going to be staying at the Leaky Cauldron over a week waiting for school to start. He’d been right in thinking that each shop could provide him with a list of what he needed. He could only hope that he wasn’t required to buy anything from a shop he didn’t think to enter. 

It was nearing closing time by the time he made it to Ollivander’s, but he was determined to get his wand today so he wouldn’t have to ask for help back onto the alley or sit and wait for someone to go through.

Ollivander was as creepy as Harry remembered, and he seemed particularly put out when Harry explained that he’d lost his wand with no hope of getting it back. He’d grumbled under his breath things about irresponsible children and people that didn’t appreciate the value of a wand, but he did go through the process of fitting Harry for a wand again. This time it was oak with a dragon heartstring core. It felt good in his hand. Not as good as his old wand, but good. He supposed he’d adjust.

He paid his seven galleons and tucked his new wand away, heading straight for the Leaky Cauldron, more than ready for dinner and a bath and maybe a little reading before bed. He ordered the meal in his room and managed to devour almost half of it. He hated wasting the rest, but his stomach just couldn’t handle more at once. That thought reminded him that he needed to try not to forget meals as he’d skipped lunch that day and eaten only dinner the previous. He needed to get used to eating again. He also thought he’d like to see if he could find spells for saving food. He thought he remembered reading about them once, but only a vague mention. With spells like that, he could carry food with him all the time and never go hungry again.

He’d just finished his bath when there was a knock at his door. He looked at it warily. No one should know that he was here. “Who is it?” he asked cautiously, picking up his wand, just in case.

“It is Headmaster Dumbledore,” the jovial voice came through the door.

Harry blinked in shock, his heart beginning to pound at the unexpected arrival of the authority figure. Was he going to get in trouble for running away? Would he be sent back or told he couldn’t come without the Dursleys' approval?

Feeling a little dizzy and a lot shaky, he tucked his wand into his pocket and stepped forward to open the door. He curled his arms around himself and looked up at the headmaster through his fringe.

“Hello, Harry,” the old man greeted warmly. “May I come in?”

Assuming that a negative response wouldn’t do any good, Harry nodded jerkily and stepped away from the door, putting some distance between them by going to sit at the small table in the room. He wrapped his arms around himself and waited to see what would happen.

“No need to look so worried, my boy,” Dumbledore said in that jovial tone he always used, as though the whole world was an inside joke that only he was getting. It made Harry feel like he was being laughed at for something he couldn’t even guess at. It made him even more uncomfortable. “When I heard that one of my students was spending the rest of the summer at the Leaky Cauldron, I thought it prudent to stop by and make sure that everything was okay at home.”

Harry managed not to flinch at the word “home”, but he did hunch a little further. “It’s fine, Headmaster,” he said stiffly. The barman, who he’d been reminded was named Tom, was clearly responsible here. Plenty of people had seen him here, especially with Tom loudly proclaiming his name at every turn, but only Tom would know he was here for the rest of the summer.

“Oh?” Dumbledore inquired doubtfully, though without losing his amused twinkle.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. “They said they wouldn’t let me come back to Hogwarts,” he admitted reluctantly.

“So you ran away?” Dumbledore inquired, and this time he sounded less amused and more concerned.

“No,” Harry lied. “I just thought it’d be easier on everyone if I came a little early.”

The amusement returned to Dumbledore’s eyes and his beard twitched with what Harry thought was likely a smile. “Ah, I see. Well, did you bring your things with you?”

Harry deflated a little at that, “No, sir. Everything was locked up. I couldn’t get it.”

“Well, then. That is easily fixed,” Dumbledore twinkled brightly. “There is not that much time until school resumes, so I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you remaining here until then. I shall fetch your trunk for you and deliver it here later tomorrow, shall I?”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry breathed in relief. “I would appreciate that very much.” He wished that he’d had this conversation yesterday. He could have saved a lot of money on replacing all of his things. Then again, most of the things he’d replaced had either been nearing too small for him or basically trash anyway. The only thing he’d purchased that he really didn’t need now was his wand, but he supposed a spare wand might not be so bad to have. If his wand was lost or stolen, it’d be nice to have a spare. And given how many people at the school strongly disliked him or hated him on principle, he didn’t think it was that much of a stretch that his wand could be stolen or deliberately destroyed. That was precisely why he didn’t regret buying the shoulder bag that could carry all his belongings.

Dumbledore left with a twinkle and a kindly pat on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry positively slumped with relief when he was left alone in his room once more. Thank God that had worked out. He picked out a book to read and curled up in his bed to read until he was ready to sleep. After all that excitement, he thought it’d be quite a while before he was tired.

In the morning, he had breakfast, again in his room, as he had no interest in being stared at while he ate. He then spent the hours until lunch between Flourish & Blotts and a used bookstore down the Alley a bit, called The Scribe’s Repository, which had a dizzying number of books of all ages and conditions. He made it back to the Leaky Cauldron in time for a late lunch, to which he had barely sat down when there was a knock on his door. 

Hoping that it was Dumbledore with his things, but fearing it may be someone else, he slipped his new wand up his sleeve as he approached the door. “Who’s there?” he called cautiously without opening it.

“Professor Severus Snape,” was the terse reply.

Harry froze for a moment in shock but then realized that Dumbledore had probably sent the man to make the delivery for him. Shaking himself, he quickly stepped forward to open the door. Indeed, the man standing in the corridor was his grumpy potions professor, whose eyes flitted over Harry briefly before meeting his eyes. 

“Oh, come in!” Harry said quickly when he realized what the man was waiting for. Snape had always been pretty harsh on him, but he’d gotten better over the year. Maybe when he realized Harry wasn’t going to talk back no matter what he did, he decided there was no point.

Snape swept inside without a word and Harry closed the door and turned back to him to find the man assessing the room with the same impassive scrutiny he’d used on Harry. 

The boy looked around as well, wondering what the man was looking for or what he was finding. The room was neat and clean as had been an essential survival skill from a young age. There were books scattered about the table from his shopping trip, some still in the cloth sacks they’d been purchased in. All were far enough from his plate to be safe from spills or splatters. His bed was neatly made, his satchel draped across the back of the chair he’d just left.

Finally, Snape removed a small box from his pocket and placed it at the foot of the bed before drawing his wand and using a silent spell to turn it into Harry’s full-sized trunk.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said sincerely, clenching his fists as he resisted the urge to immediately begin rifling through the contents to see that everything was still there and in sound condition. Or at least the condition in which he’d left it. 

Snape stared at him a moment more and he looked like there was something he wanted to say. Maybe a lot he wanted to say, really. In the end, all he said was, “Despite your lack of adult supervision here, Potter, I will expect your skill in my classroom to maintain the excellence to which I’ve grown accustomed. It would behoove you to devote some of your copious free time to reading _for class_.”

Harry glanced again at the books on the table and noted that none of them were his class books. He’d never cared all that much about his grades, in all honesty. His nearly constant O’s in potions class were somewhat more of a side effect of the potions taught being mostly interesting and Harry’s recreational reading giving him enough understanding of the discipline to do well even on the potions he didn’t find as interesting. He supposed he should go through his course book though. It would undoubtedly contain interesting potions, and those well within his skill level to brew. He’d just skim over the ones that seemed pointless.

Still, he was smart enough to know that teachers wouldn’t be pleased to hear that their students didn’t honestly care much about their marks, so Harry just nodded solemnly and voiced a, “Of course, Professor.”

Snape’s eyebrow rose as though he was doubting Harry’s statement, but he didn’t press. After a moment more, the man swept back to the door and let himself out without another glance.

Once the door was closed, Harry moved to secure the lock in place again, then rushed to his trunk. He threw it open and tossed ratty old clothes and too-small school uniforms aside until he found his original wand and his photo album. He clutched them close to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut as relief flooded through him. He’d been so convinced that he’d never see either one again.

After several minutes of just hugging them, he finally sat back on his butt, folding his legs in front of him. He kept his wand tightly in one hand while he laid the album on his lap and began to page through it again. There were only about a dozen photos in total, but they were so precious. Each one magical and moving, giving so much more life and personality to the people in them than still photos could. His parents looked so happy together. And so happy with him.

He wondered if he’d ever have a family. Considering his general dislike of everyone, it seemed likely that he’d remain alone, but sometimes he liked to think about having his own family.

He spent a couple hours pouring over the few pictures repeatedly, trying to memorize every detail in case it was ever lost to him for good.

It was the next morning before Harry finally remembered the book he’d been given at Gringotts. He actually had to go back to Flourish & Blotts and buy another book just to understand how to read what he found was his account ledger. He eventually determined that it seemed the single book had been used since his family’s account at Gringotts was opened in 1342, which… wow. It obviously had an endless page charm on it, and he found that it was also self-updating, and tied to his vault key, meaning one had to have the key in his possession to read it. He found that his family was rich. The main family vault had a little over a million galleons in it. There was nothing going out and a good amount of interest coming in. Enough that he could probably live comfortably the rest of his life on just that interest.

That was comforting to know for the future, but it didn’t do him any good for now. He couldn’t touch that vault until he turned twenty-five. In fact, the last transaction had occurred in 1980 and been done by Charlus Potter, his grandfather. James Potter had never been old enough to use it.

The trust vault, however, had just over 9,500 galleons in it, which was a lot of money. Harry assumed it was meant to last him until he turned twenty-five. A little math assured him that it wasn’t an extravagant amount, but he should be able to get by without actually earning any money if he lived modestly. Not that he was ruling out getting a job when he was older, but it was good to know he wouldn’t have to in order to survive. Especially if he ended up embracing the hermit life.

The memory of that cottage he’d seen in the mirror flashed through his mind. There was something very strange about that mirror, and Harry suspected that he’d never be able to get that memory out of his head. He’d just have to do his best to make it real and maybe then it would leave him alone.

The last week of the summer passed quickly for Harry. He hated how many people were in Diagon Alley and the Leaky Cauldron, but he was able to spend most of his time in his room. With a better understanding of his finances, he didn’t want to get too carried away with his spending, but he did pick up owl order catalogs from all over the Alley in case he wanted to buy something during the school year. Mostly he just stayed in his room, eating and reading and bathing to his heart’s content. The only thing he could think of that would make it better would be if he was in a cottage in the middle of nowhere, but it was still the best week of his whole life.

When September 1st finally rolled around, two knuts bought Harry a bit of floo powder from the Leaky Cauldron, and he took the floo directly to Platform 9 ¾. He arrived early, while the platform still wasn’t too busy, so he was able to board the train and lock himself into an empty compartment right away.

It was nearly an hour into the ride when he had to get up to find the loo. Upon returning to his compartment, he froze at the sight of a tiny blond girl sitting there like she’d a right.

They stared at each other for a long moment, Harry completely unsure what he should do. All the other compartments were full by now, there’d be no finding another one. He could maybe go and hide in a bathroom stall until they got to Hogwarts, but that was hours away still and he may not go unnoticed in the stall. The last thing he wanted was for some prefect to be called to force him out of there.

“Hello,” the girl finally said. “I’m Luna Lovegood.”

“Harry Potter,” he replied warily. She was obviously a first year by the fact that her uniform had no House insignia, but she didn’t even blink at his name. Just gave him a small smile, then turned her attention back to the magazine she was reading.

Cautiously, Harry resumed his seat, but she seemed keen to ignore him. Tense and unhappy, but with no idea what to do about it, Harry opened his book again and tried to ignore the interloper.

Surprisingly, it worked. Luna was silent but for the occasional turned page and Harry was able to start to relax again. Eventually, Luna switched her magazine for a book from her bag and started reading that. Relieved beyond belief that she hadn’t decided to try to talk to him, Harry calmed down enough to enjoy his book again. When the trolley came by, Luna bought herself a butterbeer and a bag of licorice whips. Emboldened by watching her do it, Harry got himself a butterbeer as well, since it seemed to be the only drink she was selling. He added some cauldron cakes because they looked really good, and a chocolate frog. It was the first time he’d bought anything on the train and he felt a little thrill of accomplishment at having done so without incident.

He smiled a little at the rich, buttery taste of the butterbeer and the even richer chocolatey goodness of the cauldron cakes.

He and Luna sat in silence the rest of the way to Hogwarts and Harry decided that she wasn’t so bad.

When the train reached Hogwarts, Luna went with the rest of the first years while Harry rode up in a carriage that contained some of his housemates. They ignored each other mutually as they’d learned to do in the last year and the time passed quickly.

Harry found that he much preferred the sorting when he wasn’t taking part. It wasn’t nearly so stressful. When Luna was sorted into Ravenclaw, she squeezed herself in between Harry and his yearmates rather than sitting with the other first years, which drew a few stares, but wasn’t remarked. Harry looked at her uncertainly, but she seemed just as content to sit in silence now as she had on the train, so he found it easy enough to ignore her.

When he returned to his dorm that night, he curled up in his bed and considered his situation. He’d run away from the Dursleys. He couldn’t go back next summer. He was afraid of what they’d do. Or maybe they’d never let him out and he really would be trapped there and unable to come back to Hogwarts. Plus he… really, really didn’t want to stay there even one day.

He couldn’t go back. He had until the end of June to figure out what he was going to do instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So where the heck have I been, huh? Well, in the last several months, I've started a new job and moved for the first time in over ten years. (How in God's name did I accumulate so much stuff?!) Of course, the move meant my daughter was leaving the school district she'd spent eight years in - I was not her favorite person - and the new job has me in front of the computer for hours, which makes it difficult to spend my free time in front of my computer. :( I am working to figure out how to balance everything so that I can still have time to write fanfiction because it's fun, but it's been a slog.
> 
> On a positive note, the first three chapters of this are written, so you should get chapter 3 tomorrow. Beyond that, we'll have to play it by ear.


	3. Year Two - Part 2

Harry’s second year at Hogwarts started up okay. The new Defense professor was brainless and totally convinced that he and Harry had something in common just because lots of people knew both of their names. Never mind the fact that Harry was famous for something he didn’t remember and most likely didn’t even do and Lockhart seemed to have worked really hard for every scrap of fame he’d been able to gather. And forgetting the fact that Lockhart lived for his fame and Harry literally hid from his.

When Lockhart called Harry up to the front of the class to help him act out a scene from his book, Harry was so nervous he tripped halfway through and managed to yank down the professor’s trousers trying to break his fall. He honestly hadn’t meant to, but it had worked out well for him. The man was so embarrassed, he hadn’t even given Harry detention or taken points and he’d never called on Harry again for any reason. He even walked wide around him in the corridors.

Snape was the same as Harry remembered, always watching him a little too closely and expecting nothing but the best from him if he wanted a decent grade, but he no longer singled Harry out or accused him of things he’d not done. The curriculum continued to be Harry’s favorite. Snape’s class was very straight-forward. They rarely worked in pairs and there was no time for socializing, which Harry appreciated. The potions they learned were mostly all really interesting, too.

Charms continued to be a mixed bag. Some of the spells they learned were really fascinating. Others seemed utterly pointless. So Harry’s marks in that class varied widely depending on what they were doing.

Transfiguration, Harry had finally learned, taught a lot of utterly pointless spells because learning those techniques made it possible to do the more complex transfigurations later. One could not learn to transfigure complex objects without learning the components first. So while changing a matchstick into a needle _was _utterly pointless, learning to change wood to metal and shape it was important. He didn’t understand why the teacher didn’t just explain that to the class at the beginning. Since realizing it for himself, he’d taken a little more time to teach himself the basics and that knowledge had translated into slightly better marks, but he still didn’t put that much effort into the lessons or essays.

History was exactly the same and so he continued to do recreational reading in the class, only cracking open his class book enough to avoid failing grades on the essays.

Astronomy was the same as History, though when his recreational reading took him into the realm of runes and arithmancy he began to understand that what they learned in Astronomy did have a point. Rituals could be strongly affected by astronomical position and events. Certain spells would be stronger at certain moon phases, for example, or when the Earth and Mars were close to each other. The same could be said for activating runes. It was actually pretty interesting and irritated him even more that none of the teachers actually explained _why _students needed to know things.

Herbology continued to prove interesting, though not on the level of potions. He wished they were learning about more varied plants instead of focusing so much on learning to care for just a few kinds. In potions, they learned one or two new potions every single week, after all. In herbology, they were really only working with a handful of plants all year, nurturing them as they matured. There were just so many interesting kinds of plants, it seemed a shame to ignore so many.

So naturally, Harry researched his interests on his own, sometimes to the detriment of his classwork.

The biggest difference this year from last was that he’d acquired a little blond shadow quite without his consent. Luna Lovegood, he found, may have been as much a recluse as him. She didn’t seem overly inclined to talk to anyone, and no one generally seemed to like her all that much. She sat with him at every meal and seemed to appear as if by magic every time he settled down to read for a bit in the library. He didn’t like to spend much time in the common room, but if he ever did, she was there as well.

It was the second week in October when Harry finally snapped at her. She’d just settled herself in across the table from him in the library, pile of books at her left, roll of parchment at her right, ready to take notes.

“Why are you following me!?” Harry finally demanded in a harsh whisper.

She looked up at him with wide blue eyes – though they were always wide, so that didn’t mean anything. “We’re going to be friends,” she informed him like it was unquestionable fact. “We’ll save each other. You’ll see.”

Harry could only stare in disbelief as she opened a book and lost herself in it immediately after. As though she’d not just said something utterly bizarre. After several minutes of staring that she seemed to easily ignore, Harry went back to his book as well, though it took him a little while to begin reading. He knew that Seers were a thing, but he also knew they were rare and more often than not fakes. It was possible that Luna was prescient and spoke with such conviction because she literally _knew _it to be true.

It was also possible that she was nuts. He’d heard the slur “Looney” that had been tossed around her.

After a few minutes of consideration, he decided to ignore it. If she was clairvoyant and they really were going to “save each other” then it was best he leave her be. If she was crazy, it might be best to leave her be as well. Either way, she wasn’t _really _bothering him.

Mind made up, he went back to ignoring her and focusing on his own studies.

As the weeks continued to pass, however, he couldn’t quite get it out of his mind the way she’d said they’d be friends. He’d never had a friend before. He’d thought he wouldn’t like one, but maybe Luna wouldn’t be so bad. She was quiet and she didn’t seem stupid, after all.

The year had settled into a pretty comfortable rhythm by the time Halloween rolled around. He’d never much cared for the holiday. With the Dursleys, it always meant lots of candy in the house that he couldn’t touch and Dudley dressing up as something horrible and using it as an excuse to beat on him more. It hadn’t been too bad at Hogwarts last year, except for the whole troll bit. He’d been able to stuff himself on sweets until his stomach grew queasy. This year, there was no troll and the feast passed undisturbed. Even Luna seemed in a particularly buoyant mood as she nibbled on a small amount of every sweet within reach.

Everything seemed fine until Harry climbed into bed for the night. He’d barely settled under the covers when something cold and wet soaked through his pajamas and right to his skin. He practically leapt back out of the bed in shock, dragging back his covers to find the bed was soaked everywhere his weight had fallen. As though the mattress had been wet, then dry covers fixed on top. He’d only just begun to process the odor of urine when he heard snickers, then guffaws from his roommates.

“Potter pissed the bed!” Michael Corner choked out between laughs.

Harry stared down at his bed, his body beginning to tremble as he realized that his roommates had done this. And now they were mocking him. He flashed back to being mocked by Dudley and his friends and felt a sharp burn of betrayal. He shouldn’t have. It’s not like he had really trusted these people, but… Part of him had trusted that Hogwarts was better. They’d said a lot of mean things about him last year, not quite out of his hearing, but they hadn’t done anything like this.

He felt his face heat and tears pricked at his eyes, though both were more from anger than embarrassment or hurt. He couldn’t even change the bedding and go back to sleep because he didn’t know how to get clean ones. The house-elves took care of that when they were away during the day. Struggling to clear his mind and decide what to do to avoid making this worse, Harry grabbed up his bag and stuffed inside the book he’d been intending to read tonight. He turned without looking at any of his mocking roommates and retreated into the bathroom.

Once inside, he clenched his eyes shut and a heavy tear fell from each. He pulled in a shaky breath and pushed down the hurt and embarrassment and anger until it was a tight little ball. Letting out the breath slowly, he reminded himself that none of those people mattered. They might as well have been the desks or the chairs or the actual toilets of Hogwarts. They were just part of the scenery here. He’d have to survive them for the next five and a half years if he wanted to graduate, then he need never see them again. Like the Dursleys, they were just obstacles he needed to survive. Soon enough, they would cease to matter entirely.

Those thoughts helped to calm him down considerably. There was still the tight ball of anger and betrayal in his belly, but it was manageable there.

With his thoughts centered, he scourgified himself – twice. Feeling better now that he wasn’t soaked in what must have been his dormmates’ urine, he steeled himself and marched back into the dorm. They were still snickering and whispering and Harry felt his face flush slightly again, though he ignored it. He scourgified his bed repeatedly – this was a third year spell, but one he’d found useful enough to learn. When he was satisfied that it was fit to sleep in, he climbed in again, taking his bag with him this time. If his roommates were stooping low enough to piss in his bed, he wasn’t taking any chances on them finding a way to mess with his things despite the anti-theft charms. He tugged the curtains closed sharply, then fixed them there with a locking charm and added a silencing charm so he wouldn’t have to listen to those idiots anymore.

Harry lay in bed for a long time that night. Part of him desperately wanted to get back at them for what they’d done. Another part of him realized that he’d probably just end up in trouble. Five people’s word against his suggested that they’d come out ahead if teachers got involved. He couldn’t risk getting expelled for causing trouble, and he wasn’t going to make his own life worse with detentions and lost points that would turn more of the house against him.

He worried that if he didn’t retaliate, they’d take him for an easy target and keep picking on him as Dudley and his friends had done.

After tossing ideas around in his head for what felt like hours, Harry decided that retaliating was too risky. He’d just have to learn better charms to protect himself and his bit of the dorm. In the meantime, he’d just be careful and do his best to remember that none of them mattered. They were the rugs under his feet. Not even as memorable as the portraits. They were scenery, interchangeable with any other.

They didn’t matter.

*** * * * ***

It was midway through November when Harry received a very strange letter in the mail from someone he’d never heard of before. Someone named Lord Damien Blishwick II had sent him a letter offering him a betrothal contract with his daughter, Catherine Blishwick. She was, apparently, several years younger than him.

Harry had no idea what to do about the letter. Someone was asking him if he wanted to agree to marry their daughter sometime in the future. He was twelve. And he didn’t like people in general.

But Lord Blishwick sounded important, and he was polite, so Harry thought he should respond. He just had no idea how to do that.

After some thought, he brought the matter to Luna. They still didn’t talk all that much, but he thought she might be safe to ask. And she was a pureblood raised in the wizarding world, so she might know.

“You’ll get more of those,” Luna assured him as she pushed the letter back across the library table to him after reading it. They mostly only talked in the library because the Great Hall and the Common Room were both too filled with nosy housemates.

“Why?” Harry asked, bewildered. “Because I’m the Boy-Who-Lived?” he added bitterly.

“Yes,” Luna replied without inflection. One thing he loved about her was that he didn’t judge. She told things like they were without thinking positively or negatively of him for it. It was a relief after the way everyone else treated him like they had a right to an opinion on anything about him. “And because your family is wealthy and noble. You’re not on a level with the Malfoys, of course, but you’ll have a seat on the Wizengamot when you reach twenty-five.”

Harry frowned thoughtfully. He’d known he was rich, but he hadn’t known he was noble. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “Is there a book where I can learn this stuff?” he grumbled. He hated not knowing even more than he hated having to ask questions, but not so much more that he was willing to sit around talking all day to try to learn this stuff.

Luna looked thoughtful for a moment, then stood up and wandered off without a word.

Harry guessed that she was going to find a book on it and went back to pondering over his letter. Hopefully, she’d find a book that would explain how to respond to this without making mortal enemies or something. He had enough of those already.

*** * * * ***

Harry realized that something was wrong when Luna showed up to breakfast without shoes on. He looked around uncertainly, then leaned toward her and whispered, “Luna, where are your shoes?”

“They were gone when I woke up,” she replied quietly, her tone as dreamy and unaffected as always. “I think the nargles must have taken them. I thought I could look for them after breakfast.”

Harry blinked, then glanced down the table toward Luna’s dormmates, who were looking in their direction and snickering. Nargles. Right.

Harry spent the rest of the meal pondering over the strange sensation in his chest. It was hot and tight and definitely angry. It took a bit for him to realize that he was angry on Luna’s behalf. More than just angry, he was furious.

It wasn’t quite like anything he’d ever felt before. He wasn’t sure if he liked it. He did know that he wanted to help Luna.

As soon as they were done eating, they set out to find her shoes. It took a while and he kept casting warming charms on her feet because the stone floors were freezing and Luna didn’t seem to be willing to do it herself. She did give him a smile every time, though. They eventually found her shoes, tied together by the strings and thrown up over a chandelier in a rarely used corridor not too far from Ravenclaw Tower.

Luna had no difficulty levitating them down. Harry waited impatiently until she’d put them on, then all but dragged her to the library with him. He found her several books with helpful spells that he’d found to safeguard his things. Then they found an unused classroom and he set about teaching her how to cast an undetectable extension charm like the one he’d used on his belt buckle. He’d gotten better at it since last year and he could make a bigger space now. Together, they enchanted her shoulder bag to hold all her things.

“Keep it with you all the time,” Harry coached sternly. “Even when you sleep, just hang it from your headboard. It’s what I do.”

“Thank you,” she said in that serene, but painfully earnest way that she had.

Harry shifted uncomfortably and shrugged it off, “Do you know how to cast locking and silencing charms?”

She shook her head mutely.

“They’re not hard,” he promised and set about teaching her all of the most important spells that he used to stay safe and unmolested in his dorm and beyond. Luna was a fast learner and she didn’t try to thank him again or make chit chat, for which he was immensely thankful. Luna wasn’t so bad, but he never knew what to say when he was talking to someone without a specific reason for it. How did people just seem to know what to say all the time?

“Don’t let it get to you,” he told her gruffly before leaving the room after their impromptu lesson was concluded. “They don’t matter. None of them do. You’ll survive them and then you’ll leave and you won’t even remember them. They’re not important.”

She smiled a little and he fled before she could say anything.

A couple of weeks later, the protections Harry had cast to keep his bed unmolested in his absence proved not quite sufficient. He’d only just pulled back the blankets when he heard an angry voice threatening to bite him. He blinked and jumped back. Hearing his roommates’ snickering told him that this was undoubtedly their doing, but what had they done?

Cautiously, Harry lifted the blanket higher and blinked at the sight of a small black snake, not even the length of his wand.

_“Stupid two-legs think they can toss me around and get away with it!”_ the snake was hissing angrily. _“Stupid two-legs, I will bite them and they will scream and they will fear me!”_

Harry glanced back at his roommates, but they were trying to pretend like they weren’t eagerly awaiting his reaction. Unfortunately for them, Harry had never feared snakes. He’d not had much contact with them, but he didn’t find them scary. The snake he’d set on Dudley, for example. That had been an accident and he’d paid dearly for it, but it had been funny. And he’d liked the snake. _“Calm down,”_ he told the snake soothingly, deciding to ignore his roommates.

The snake whipped her head up to look at him, tongue flicking out rapidly. _“You talk?”_ it asked incredulously.

_“Guess so,”_ he shrugged. _“You do, too.”_

_“All snakes talk,”_ she responded as though he was the dim one. _“It is two-legs who cannot talk. But you talk.”_

“Bloody hell!” Corner all but squealed, drawing Harry’s attention away from the snake in his bed.

Harry’s eyes narrowed on the blubbering fool and he noticed that everyone else was in the same boat. What were they on about now?

“He’s a parselmouth!” Entwhistle gasped.

“I’m not sleeping here with him!” Cornfoot declared and set off out of the door, skirting wide around Harry’s bed, yanking his dressing gown around his shoulders.

Harry watched in bewilderment as the rest of his housemates followed his example, leaving him alone with the snake. Harry scratched his head absently, then sat down slowly on the side of the bed. He looked back down to find the snake examining him, inching closer and tasting the air.

_“Will you throw me around and hold me down like the others?”_

_“No,”_ Harry frowned, irritated that they’d done that.

_“Will you give me a warm place and food?”_

Harry blinked in surprise. _“Er… I don’t know if I can. We’re not really allowed to keep snakes.”_

The snake, which he thought was a young adder, seemed to wilt, lying down flat on the bed.

Was he being manipulated by a snake? It kind of seemed like it. _“I’ll try,”_ he ventured, glancing at the door. Surely they’d gone to get Professor Flitwick. They can’t have just decided to sleep in the common room from now on, though it was a nice thought… Harry supposed this would all be sorted out soon enough, though he was sure they’d make him look like the bad guy.

The snake’s mood seemed to bounce back at once and she slithered directly into his lap. He wasn’t sure if it was possible for a snake, but he could swear the damn thing was purring as she muttered about his warmth.

Cautiously, Harry reached down and ran a hand over her small body. She had bits of red here and there, though she was mostly black. She was beautiful and he couldn’t help but smile at the feel of her cool scales beneath his fingers. She made more happy noises and started giving him instructions on precisely where she wanted to be rubbed.

He didn’t even realize how wide his smile had grown until it fell abruptly away when the door banged open once more.

“It’s there, Professor!” Corner crowed, pointing imperiously at the snake in Harry’s lap.

Professor Flitwick came in after him and stood in the center of the room while everyone else lingered near the door. “Hello, Mr. Potter,” Flitwick said cheerfully, though with worried eyes. He glanced back at the watching boys and nodded toward the door. “You boys can wait out in the common room.”

With some hesitation, the boys filtered back out, closing the door behind them.

“Hello, Professor,” Harry said quietly, stroking his fingers gently over the snake.

“Your roommates tell me that you were talking to the snake. Is that true?” the professor pressed gently.

Harry swallowed and nodded, keeping his eyes on his lap.

“Did you bring it here, Harry?” he asked gently.

Harry shook his head, “Found it when I went to get into bed,” he admitted quietly. “It was under the blanket.”

There was a long moment of silence before Flitwick spoke again. “Would you speak to it so that I can hear you, Mr. Potter?”

Harry glanced up at him, but he seemed in earnest. He swallowed nervously and curled one arm around his chest while the other kept stroking the cool scales. _“What’s your name?”_ he asked the snake.

_“I don’t know what is ‘name’,”_ the snake responded with a little wriggle.

_“Er… It’s what others call you when they want to tell you apart from other snakes,”_ he tried to explain.

_“Why use words when there is smells?”_ she inquired, sounding genuinely curious.

Harry frowned and tried to figure out how to explain better_. “Like if you were in a group of snakes, how would they get your attention if they wanted to?”_

_“Like when we sleep? They would touch me with their nose or tongue.”_

_“Oh,”_ Harry nodded, figuring that meant that snakes, at least adders, didn’t have names.

“Absolutely extraordinary.” The comment made Harry look up to where his teacher was watching him intently. He came a bit closer. “What were you talking about?”

“You can’t understand her, Professor?” Harry asked, for nothing else made sense.

“I cannot,” Flitwick confirmed. “The ability to speak to snakes is a very rare gift.”

“I was asking her name, but she doesn’t have one,” Harry replied quietly. He chewed his lip uncertainly and debated briefly before deciding that he had to know, “Why did they look at me like that?” he asked quietly.

Flitwick sighed and came closer still, his voice very gentle when he spoke, “The ability to speak to snakes is believed to have been a gift of Salazar Slytherin, passed on through his descendants.”

Harry glanced up uncertainly. He wasn’t sure how that made sense of their reactions.

“The most recent parselmouth, which is what snake speakers are called, was He Who Must Not Be Named.”

Harry took a moment to process that, then slumped. First his wand, now his ability to talk to snakes? What was next? Would he find out that Voldemort was an abused orphan as well?

“There is nothing evil about the ability, Mr. Potter,” Flitwick soothed, “though some of the most famous – infamous – bearers of the ability have swayed public opinion to the belief, especially among children.” He sounded apologetic. He knew that this was going to make Harry’s life infinitely more difficult and there was nothing he could do about it.

Wonderful.

In the end, it was agreed that Harry could keep the adder provided that her venom was diluted a bit with a simple potion that would be put in her food. Since she’d be eating dead mice provided by the house-elves, that was easily done. Adders, he learned, weren’t all that dangerous. Though their venom could technically kill a human, it was generally only the very small or very weak that were in danger, and that was even less among people with magic to help heal them. She’d still have some venom, but not enough to be dangerous to even the smallest first year that was dumb enough to not go to the nurse after being bitten. Not that she was going to bite. Flitwick stressed that Harry was responsible for her actions. As a parselmouth, he was allowed to keep her, but if she bit anyone, that would be on him.

Harry was a little leery of that, but he accepted it. He also explained to her very strenuously that if she bit anyone, she’d be outside fending for herself before she could protest. He wasn’t getting into trouble because she was misbehaving. Still… she was sweet and kind of amazing.

Added bonus: his dormmates were terrified of her and him by extension.

The downside, naturally, was that word of his ability was all over the school by lunch the next day, causing everyone to look at him like he’d grown horns overnight and started preaching for the Dark Lord’s cause. They whispered about him being a Dark Wizard and going evil and joining “You-Know-Who”.

Luna, as usual, seemed neither surprised nor at all bothered or excited to learn about his new gift or that he’d taken to wearing a snake like a necklace – he wasn’t leaving her in his dorm where anyone could get to her. She’d just smiled and greeted the snake as though they could understand each other and were going to be great friends.

“What’s her name?” she asked in her usual dreamy manner as she piled an unhealthy number of bangers on top of her eggs.

“She doesn’t have one,” Harry admitted.

“So you’ll give her one,” Luna reasoned.

“Maybe,” Harry said cautiously. He’d never named anything before in his life. Maybe he’d ask the snake to come up with her own name.

That idea lasted all of two days with him vetoing every one she came up with. It just didn’t seem feasible to call her Little Snake With Black Scales Who Strikes Fast or Fearsome Snake That Eats Fat Mice. No wonder snakes didn’t have names. It would take all bloody day to take a roll call. In the end, he settled on calling her Sassik, which was parseltongue for Fearsome. It wasn’t because she was actually fearsome, but rather because she tried so very hard to be, and he thought it should be rewarded. Plus it was part of one of the names she picked and he didn’t like disregarding her wishes the way everyone had always done to him.

Sassik mostly stayed under his clothes and out of sight, but people did still flinch, “like frightened prey,” she insisted, whenever she moved or spoke to him. He’d had to tell her to stay still while he was in class lest she be asked to leave as a distraction to the class. She didn’t seem to mind, merely using these times to nap against his warmth.

It took time, but people slowly started to become accustomed to her presence and the fact that Harry was a parselmouth, yet wasn’t cursing everyone in sight or hatching an evil scheme.

Lockhart started a dueling club shortly before winter break. Everyone was very excited about it, though Harry couldn’t imagine why. With Lockhart in charge, it was certain to be pointless. He and Luna used the time to enjoy the nearly empty library. When the students began to filter back, they heard immediately that it had been a huge letdown and were content in their choice to avoid it.

When winter break arrived, Luna left to see her father over the holiday and Harry found himself feeling uncomfortably… bereft in her absence. He’d learned to tolerate her and he’d been angry on her behalf when she’d been bullied but he hadn’t ever actually thought of her as a friend. He still wasn’t sure if that term was accurate. All he did know was that he missed her always being there when he was eating and when he was sitting in the library.

She was a year behind him in classes, but she was only actually a couple of months younger than him. Her birthday was at the beginning of October and his at the end of July, so they were only a little over two months different in age. She was behind him in studies, but she didn’t feel like a younger person. She certainly didn’t act younger. Or older. She was unique, he decided. It was hard to compare her to anyone. She was strange, but she didn’t act like a stupid, petty child like so many of the other children did, even much older ones.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about missing her, so he mostly tried not to think about it. Sassik helped him to feel less lonely, but she spent most of her time sleeping and she understood people even less than he did.

When Luna did return in early January, Harry found himself being just a bit warmer toward her. A bit more willing to talk to her. He didn’t always know what to say, but he was willing to give it a try. Luna didn’t comment on the change, but he knew that she’d noticed. She seemed happier than she’d been before. He had no idea how to feel about having the power to shift her moods by such small actions. He feared anyone having that power over him, but she seemed to like it, of all things.

Valentine’s Day was horrifying. Lockhart turned the school into a nightmare of pink, set wandering dwarves on the students, and encouraged everyone to send love letters. After receiving a terrifying pile of pink mail during breakfast, Harry had locked himself into his dorm room for the rest of the day. He survived on the food and drink he’d stashed in his bag with the preservation charms he’d learned that year – the basic ones really weren’t that hard and they could keep food fresh for months and months. Why they weren’t in the Standard Book of Spells, he couldn’t understand.

He’d warily gone through the mail and binned most of it. It seemed to be largely girls – and a few boys - from the school, some anonymous, some not, writing bad poetry and telling him they thought he was cute. Nothing required a response. There was only one that was different. That was a formal betrothal offer again, this time from Lord Samuel Smith for his daughter, who apparently attended a school in France and was in her fourth year.

Harry wrote back to that one, respectfully declining on the grounds that he wasn’t interested in entering into any betrothal contracts while he was so young. He didn’t think he’d ever want a betrothal contract. It seemed to him that he’d marry if he fell in love and if not then he wouldn’t, but he didn’t want to burn any bridges without a good reason.

Not that he expected to care about any of that when he was old enough to become a hermit, but keeping options open when possible sounded better than not.

At least Luna had come through with a couple of books that had helped him to understand the customs of the British wizarding nobility. The families were mostly purebloods, but there were a few halfblood Lords as well. He learned that the Potter family was relatively young, not quite a thousand years, and they were far from the richest. Still, they had a seat on the Wizengamot, even if it hadn’t been actually sat since Charlus Potter died. He couldn’t touch it until he was twenty-five, and even then he didn’t have to. He was pleased to learn, however, that he could appoint a proxy to the seat because maybe he would want to influence laws and trials and stuff but he knew without a doubt that he would never want to physically sit on the Wizengamot.

Maybe Luna would like to do it.

The rest of the school year passed quickly. _Too_ quickly. His stress levels multiplied as the time drew closer without his having found a solution to the Dursleys. He couldn’t go back. He refused. He wasn’t a little kid anymore. He’d rather risk his life on the streets than go back to them. Never again.

He’d nearly decided that that’s what he would have to do when Luna spoke up one day in the library, “Daddy and I are going to spend the summer in northern Canada searching for a herd of wild heliopaths.”

Harry blinked at her. They’d not been talking at all, so her comment was completely out of the blue as well as making him feel even worse about his own lack of plans for the summer. Before he could decide if he should say anything at all, Luna continued.

“I wrote and asked Daddy and he said that he would love for you to join us. We’ve just got a new tent, so you can use our old one.”

Harry stared at her for a long time. She was offering him somewhere safe to stay for the summer. He didn’t know that he really trusted her dad, but he was nearly certain that Luna wouldn’t have invited him if she thought there would be any danger to him. Did that mean he trusted her?

He decided not to dwell on that for the moment.

He thought about it, but could it be more dangerous living in the wilderness of North America with Luna and her dad than living on the streets alone? One unknown adult to contend with rather than an indefinite number? He took a shaky breath and let it out slowly, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

Luna gave him a brilliant smile, then went back to her reading, giving him the chance to wrap his head around what had just happened and how he felt about it.

Despite having somewhere to go for the summer, Harry kept looking for alternative options. There were some possibilities, but none that were nearly as good as Luna’s offer since hers involved an actual adult to help him. People tended to ask questions when kids were alone, after all, and that could lead to all kinds of trouble that could potentially land him back with the Dursleys. Traveling with Luna and her dad would get him far away from Britain, potentially away from most people in general if they were really spending most of their time in the wilderness, and it ensured that he wouldn’t end up in a pickle legally due to being an unaccompanied minor – he’d learned lots of terms like that while looking for solutions over the year.

When they arrived back in London at last, Luna led him to the public floos. “We’ll have to go together, or you’ll not get through,” she explained as she stepped into the fireplace, floo powder in her hand.

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. He didn’t much like being so close to anyone, but it was necessary. Their trunks had been shrunk down and put into their bags before leaving Hogwarts. Luna’s father could resize them if necessary, but Harry had put everything he wanted to access over the summer into his bag, so he wasn’t worried.

Once he was close enough, Luna called out, “Rook Cottage,” and they were whisked away on a gout of green flame.


	4. Year Three - Part 1

Harry took a moment to enjoy a last look at the Canadian wilderness around him. Luna and her dad, Xenophilius “just call me Xeno, m’boy” Lovegood, were packing up the remains of their camp and breaking down their tent. Harry had already finished with his. Hogwarts was to resume in two days and they were taking a portkey back to Britain today.

Harry had believed his week of freedom last summer had been wonderful, but it was nothing on this summer. He was so very grateful that he’d taken Luna up on her offer. And, if fact, that he’d let her befriend him. And they were friends now. After the summer, he was sure of it. They still spent more of their time together in silence than conversation, but Harry usually liked her silent presence more than the lack of it, which was more than he could say for anyone else.

They’d spent the summer making small jumps around northern Canada, always well away from any settlements as heliopaths apparently disliked any kind of civilization and wouldn’t go near it. They spent two or three days at each campsite before moving again. Luna and Xeno had spent their days wandering the surrounding woodlands and plains in search of their quarry. Harry was generally just left alone to relax in his private tent or around the campsite. He never ventured far, conscious of the dangers of bear and moose and wolves. The campsites were always warded with simple wards to keep away wildlife and even keep the bugs out, which was nice.

Sassik was less pleased with the lack of vermin as it meant she couldn’t hunt inside the camp, but she was appeased by wandering just outside of the camp to hunt and Harry fetching her to bring her back when she was ready. Unfortunately, the wildlife wards kept her out as well.

The tent that Harry was using was small as wizarding tents go. Just one bedroom with a full bath and combined kitchen/dining/living area. It was very compact, but more than adequate to spend a summer in, especially considering that his alternative had been living on the street and trying not to get attacked while being unable to use his magic to defend himself lest he get expelled. The Lovegood’s new tent, according to Luna, had two bedrooms and more living space for the two of them.

Harry had offered to buy the tent from Xeno as having a portable shelter seemed an excellent backup plan for any number of situations, but Xeno had brushed him off with a laugh and given it to him for free.

Xeno, Harry had quickly learned, was more than a little bit off. He seemed more like a crazy uncle than a father figure for Luna, and Harry was beginning to understand just why Luna was so unique.

Not that he was complaining. He only liked Luna because she was strange – different to other children.

Luna and Xeno often left immediately after breakfast and only returned in time for a late dinner, having packed their lunch for the trail. That left an incredible amount of alone time for Harry. It was nice, but it left him with a lot of downtime. Enough to start him wondering about getting a hobby. He’d not had time or opportunity at the Dursleys to develop one, and at Hogwarts the last two years, he’d spent all of his free time studying. There was so much to learn and so many books available that he’d never had problems filling his time with that in between classes. Without classes to distract him, however, well… Apparently there was such a thing as too much reading.

Nevertheless, he learned a lot that summer. He read through all of his own books within the first month. Though he owl ordered some more, the international shipping rate was extortionate, so he didn’t want to do it too much. He’d have ordered more locally if he knew any local shops, but alas… In between, he read some of the books Luna had brought. In fact, they were suspicious enough in nature that he didn’t doubt she’d brought them – even bought them – specifically with him in mind. After all, why would a pureblood need to learn about the inner workings of the magical world, such as business, politics, and career tracks?

Still, she didn’t say anything about it and neither did he, so it wasn’t too bad. It was interesting to learn more about how the magical world actually worked. He also learned of more possible hermit careers. Growing and selling magical plants, for example. Raising magical creatures and harvesting their valuable bits – raising snakes and selling their venom and shed skin, for example, seemed plausible for him. Enchanting items and selling them, either to order or to shops. Repairing and/or restoring damaged magical items. Spell creation, either creating new spells or improving upon existing ones. These could be used to sell in books or created specifically for clients upon request. There was farming and/or ranching to sell the food.

It all gave Harry some things to ponder and a little more hope for his future. With all those options, he didn’t think he’d have any problem supporting himself after Hogwarts, all without having to spend much time around anyone. Maybe Luna, but that was it.

“We’re ready, Harry.” Luna’s voice shook Harry from his wandering thoughts and he focused on the Lovegoods, who were indeed packed up and ready to go, tent folded down and packed into expanded bags. Harry’s own tent was already in his shoulder bag.

Xeno produced a bit of string, which was the portkey, and one dizzying trip later, they were landing in the Lovegoods’ livingroom. Harry was set up in the Lovegoods’ spare bedroom for the remaining two nights before they’d return to Hogwarts, just as he’d stayed the first night after Hogwarts. Though Harry trusted Xeno pretty much at this point, he still pushed a chair up under the knob on the inside of the room. He knew that, realistically, it wouldn’t keep out someone with magic, but it made him feel better that at least he’d be guaranteed to hear someone coming.

In the morning, Xeno made them all roast beef sandwiches, which seemed an odd choice for breakfast, but Harry had gotten used to that over the summer. He then, surprisingly, shooed them both to the floo, pressing a bag of coins into Luna’s hand.

Harry followed his friend through to the Leaky Cauldron and led the way into the Alley. “Your dad’s not coming?” he asked quietly as he led the way to the bank. Luna had her money, but he needed some.

“No. He didn’t last year, either,” Luna shrugged serenely. “The Quibbler goes out on the first of the month, so he’s busy now.”

Harry nodded his understanding. He wasn’t sure how proper families were supposed to work. The Dursleys would never have let Dudley do something like this alone, but they were hardly shining examples of parenting.

It didn’t take long for Harry to take out money and then the two of them made their way through the shops as Harry had last year with a few extra stops at shops that Harry had never visited, but Luna liked. Harry also dragged them into Quality Quidditch Supplies. He’d thought of getting a broom for himself during his first year, but he’d never bothered to last year as it hadn’t seemed like he’d have all that much opportunity to ride one. After this summer, however, he couldn’t help but think how great it would have been to have a broom to ride on while he was out in the wilderness. Xeno had already invited him to join them this coming summer, though he wasn’t sure yet where they would be going.

Harry spent quite a while debating between the Nimbus 2001 and the Firebolt. The Nimbus was considerably cheaper and a quality broom from what he could see. The Firebolt was much faster and more maneuverable, though. So much so that it was the new standard with professional Quidditch teams. He didn’t really need anything that fancy, but if he was going to spend the money, maybe he should spend more and get a really good one… But would it be worth it if he rarely ever even used it because there was nowhere good to ride around the school with any privacy?

After a good half hour of weighing the pros and cons, Luna finally called over the shopkeeper and told them that Harry would like to buy the Firebolt. When he’d looked at her in surprise, she’d just given him a small smile and told him that it’d be worth it.

Having been so on the fence about it, he couldn’t really refute her logic – and there was still the chance that she was prescient, which he’d neither proven nor disproven just yet. At times, he could swear that she must be, but she’d never done anything that absolutely couldn’t be explained away. He let himself be convinced and bought the more expensive broom, which thrilled the shopkeeper as he clearly wasn’t selling many of them despite all the people crowding the shop to ogle it.

It _was _expensive, but Harry figured that he could afford it if he didn’t go crazy buying other things. From the math he’d done, he figured he’d been well below the amount he could be spending for the last two summers so it all worked out.

Over the course of their day, they repeatedly heard people talking about Sirius Black, then looking suspiciously through the crowds as though they might be attacked. So when they stopped for lunch, they bought a newspaper with the man’s name splashed across the front. Apparently, he was some lieutenant of Voldemort that had recently broken out of Azkaban, which was a huge deal because no one had ever broken out of the island prison before. Harry cynically wondered if it was just the first time the public had found out about an escape, but he didn’t voice the thought.

On page 7, they found the story of Sirius’ background for anyone who didn’t know or wanted a refresher. It was there that Harry found out that it was personal to him. Apparently, Sirius Black had been his godfather and the Secret Keeper that had been charged with keeping his parents and him hidden during the war. Obviously, he’d been a traitor and led Voldemort straight to them, leading to their deaths and Harry’s dubious ascension to child messiah.

“Yet another person who wants me dead for something beyond my control,” he grumbled as he finished reading the article, stuffing the last of his sandwich into his mouth.

“You do seem to attract them,” Luna agreed.

Harry gave her a sour look but didn’t comment as he folded the paper back up and tossed it in the nearest bin. Then he looked around the street with what was probably the same suspicious look he’d observed on others. The paper hadn’t said it outright, but it had been _heavily _implied that Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban in search of him. That he was the one who’d survived, that he’d supposedly killed Black’s “Lord”, that Black was reported to have said something about “he’s at Hogwarts” before breaking out. He figured he’d do well to watch his back, but he wasn’t going to get too worked up. After all, there were like a hundred and fifty “he”s at Hogwarts, including Dumbledore, Voldemort’s sworn enemy. Plenty of other people he could have meant.

Despite that, the rest of the shopping trip was curtailed as they both bought what they needed and floo’d back to Luna’s house via the Leaky Cauldron, which was free if you brought your own floo powder, which Luna had in a small pouch on her belt. They’d collected new owl order catalogs all over the Alley, so they could always buy extra stuff later if they wanted to. Harry preferred it that way anyhow. It could be nice to see things in person before buying them, but that convenience didn’t make up for having to be surrounded by people the whole time.

Upon arriving back at Luna’s house, they found it empty. A note sat on the table.

> _My Dearest Luna,_
> 
> _I’ve just received an urgent missive that indicates there may well be an illicit wrackspurt breeding ring in full swing in London. I’ve gone to investigate. It will likely take a few days at least. See you over winter hols, my dear._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Dad_

The note was messy, covered in splotches of ink, and looked to have been penned in haste.

“That happen a lot?” Harry wondered. Luna’s face hadn’t changed, but her shoulders had drooped a bit as soon as she’d seen the letter. It didn’t look like she’d even needed to read it to know what it meant.

“Yes,” Luna replied easily. “Daddy’s a busy man. The news doesn’t write itself.”

Harry just nodded and took his bag to his room to organize his purchases.

Come morning, Harry and Luna made breakfast together, as they’d done dinner the previous night. Luna wasn’t much of a cook, unfortunately. Harry was a pretty good cook – survival skill at the Dursleys – but he wasn’t very good at navigating a magical kitchen. Together they made a serviceable breakfast and snack for the train, then floo’d to the train station nice and early as Harry had done last year to avoid the crowds and ensure he could get a private compartment.

Unfortunately, the last bit didn’t work out because Luna absolutely insisted they join what appeared to be a homeless man passed out in one of the compartments despite many open ones available.

“Why?” Harry hissed in exasperation when three flat-out refusals failed to sway her.

“I don’t know!” she finally snapped back, looking something less than serene for the first time since Harry had met her. She seemed to surprise herself with that as well and took a breath before looking into the carriage and regaining most of her composure. “It’s important,” she insisted quietly.

Harry grimaced as he looked at the scruffy man, but he suspected this may be proof that Luna had at least a bit of the Sight and he trusted her enough that he didn’t think she’d lead him astray. With a sigh, Harry slid open the compartment door and made his way inside. His trunk was still shrunken inside his bag and Luna’s was as well so they didn’t have to worry about that, at least.

The man didn’t so much as stir at their entrance and they both sat on the bench opposite him. Harry generally tried not to sit so close to someone when he could help it, but he supposed he’d have to make an exception this once. It was just Luna, at least.

He and Luna each retrieved a book and read in silence as the train filled and eventually departed the station, all without the bedraggled man so much as twitching. He was either deeply exhausted, spelled unconscious, or possibly in some kind of coma. At least he didn’t smell of drink. Possible Seer’s intuition or not, Harry didn’t think he could stand it if the man smelled sauced. His general distrust of people and particularly adults grew considerably worse when they weren’t even in their right minds.

Around twelve-thirty Luna retrieved the sandwich they’d packed that morning for the ride. Harry quickly copied her, thankful that they’d had the foresight. He was starved and his stomach was a little iffy on the best of days, but it really got testy when he ate a heap of sweets and nothing else. Why the trolley only sold sweets he couldn’t imagine. Sure the Gryffindors probably wouldn’t eat anything good when they didn’t have to from sheer pride, but at least some of the other houses would undoubtedly like real food to tide them over the long ride.

They probably assumed that the people who did could bring it from home. As though everyone had that opportunity.

They were just finishing their lunch when the trolley came through and they each purchased a couple of sweets and a butterbeer, sipping and munching silently as the ride progressed.

Harry had just finished his book, perhaps half an hour before they were due to arrive at the Hogsmeade station. He replaced it in his bag and was trying to figure out what else he wanted to read when the train abruptly started to slow.

He and Luna exchanged puzzled looks. Luna looked concerned. Before either could say anything, the lights flickered out, sending the compartment into complete darkness.

With a shaky breath, Harry drew his wand and cast a lumos a second before Luna did the same. They were free to use magic on the train, thankfully, because Harry wasn’t sure he could have brought himself to actually sit in the darkness and wait to see if Sirius Black had somehow infiltrated the train and come to kill him.

…and maybe all those blasted rumors had sunk in more than he’d thought if that was his first assumption.

Merlin, why did everything always have to happen to him? Why the bloody hell couldn’t everyone just leave him alone as he was perfectly content to do them?

Starting to get really scared and not liking it, he stood and moved to the compartment door. He opened it just a bit to have a peek into the corridor and see if he could get any hint of what was going on. All he could see was more people with lit wands doing the same thing. With a sigh, he closed the door, flipped the lock, and sat back down.

“There’s something moving outside,” Luna said softly and Harry heard a faint tremor in her voice.

Harry looked at her worriedly, then leaned forward and pushed down the blinds on the windows. He was just sitting back down when he noticed the sudden drop in temperature. He wrapped his free arm around his chest as his breath fogged the air.

“What the bloody hell?” he whispered, wracking his brain to try to think of what might be happening. Was this an attack? And if so, by whom? Sirius Black? Had he pulled together some of Voldemort’s old followers that hadn’t gone to prison? And if so, why?

A violent tremble wracked his body and it wasn’t just from the cold. His mind kept tripping down dark paths that he usually avoided at all costs.

There was a sharp snap suddenly at the door and Harry flinched as he saw the glass completely frost over in seconds and then the metal of the door shrieked as it was suddenly cooled. Before he could more than lean away from it, it slapped violently open and what looked like a living nightmare loomed in the opening. A tattered black cloak hung on something that was clearly flying and maybe didn’t have a full body underneath, but there were skeletal hands emerging from the sleeves and a bit of a gaping mouth could be seen through the shadows of the cowl.

Despair filled Harry as his mind flashed back to grogginess and nausea and pain. Hand shaped bruises and bite marks and pain, pain, pain…

Harry woke with a sob, jumping back when he realized the homeless man was crouched right in front of him.

“Easy, Harry,” he said gently, holding up his empty hands.

Harry’s eyes darted around until he found Luna standing behind the man and looking vaguely worried. The creature was gone from the doorway and the lights were back on, he realized. “What happened?” Harry gasped, shaking his head and trying to clear it of the lingering memories.

“That was a dementor,” Lupin explained grimly. “One of the dementors of Azkaban.” A loud snapping drew Harry’s attention to his hands, which he realized held a large block of chocolate. The man held one piece, that he must have just broken off, to Harry. “Here, eat this. It will help.”

Harry looked at it incredulously. Did the man honestly didn’t think he didn’t know better by thirteen than to take candy from a stranger? “No, thank you,” he said politely, shakily pushing himself up onto the bench with his back to the wall, leaning against the seatback to keep him upright.

“It really will help,” the man tried again.

Harry’s eyes trailed around the cabin a moment before landing on the chocolate frogs he’d bought off the trolley. He grabbed one of them and opened it, being careful to avoid it jumping away. He took a bite to appease the man and did feel himself relax a little from the shaky tension he’d been carrying, his fingers and toes finally beginning to defrost.

The man sighed and offered the bit of chocolate to Luna, who took it without complaint.

Harry frowned at her display of trust in a stranger but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t her father. If she wanted to take stupid risks, it was her business.

Harry finally processed just what else the stranger had said, “Dementor?! What the bloody hell is a ‘dementor of Azkaban’ doing on a train full of children?!”

The man grimaced a bit, “I really need to speak with the driver. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Harry watched him leave, wondering if that was as obvious an evasion of his question as it had seemed or if his brain was just that addled.

_“That was horrible,” _Harry heard Sassik hiss from where she was wrapped around his neck. She’d grown since she’d come to him. She was fully half a meter now and the reading he’d done said that she might get a little longer but no more. He was kind of glad. The size she was now, she was easily concealed about his neck. He wasn’t ashamed of her, but life was just easier when people either didn’t know she was there or forgot that she was.

_“It was,”_ he agreed with her.

_“I thought you were dead,” _Sassik insisted. _“You got all stiff and leaked water from your eyes and then you fell over.”_

Harry wiped hastily at his cheeks when he realized what she was saying. Mortification swept through him when he realized that the stranger had seen him like this. It was embarrassing with Luna, but he trusted her to never, ever mention it, at least.

“Are you okay, Harry?” Luna asked quietly.

Harry shuddered slightly as he continued to work to push the memories further away from his conscious mind. “Yeah, just… bad memories.”

Luna nodded. They both knew full well what dementors were, though that had all been academic before. He’d never in his wildest dreams imagined that he’d meet one, especially before getting out of Hogwarts. He knew about their strengths and weaknesses and the aura of fear they projected while they fed on your happy memories, but he’d not had a proper appreciation for what they looked like. It hadn’t registered what it was when he’d seen it. He’d only known terror in that moment.

Merlin, that was the worst feeling in the world.

“I saw my mother die,” Luna said in that painfully candid way she had.

Harry frowned at her uncertainly. “That’s awful,” he offered because it was.

Luna nodded matter-of-factly and didn’t ask about what he’d seen because she was great like that. He couldn’t have told her anyway. That wasn’t something he ever planned to tell anyone. Just knowing it himself was horrible enough. Having others know it would be a million times worse.

Sassik seemed to think the conversation was over because she ducked back down, tucking her head under his shirt. And it was none too soon for a second later, the stranger returned to the cabin just as the train began to move again. “Why was a dementor on the train?” Harry reiterated, not willing to let the man avoid his question.

The man sighed and stepped fully inside, closing the compartment door, which didn’t seem to want to latch, then resuming his seat. “I don’t know for certain, Harry, but I suspect they were searching for Sirius Black.”

Harry’s eyes widened, “Why would he be on the train?” Embarrassingly, his voice cracked in the middle of that.

The stranger looked suddenly shifty and Harry got the point he didn’t want to make. The ministry thought Black was after him as well. Or maybe it had just been his comment about “he’s at Hogwarts” that had them searching the train, he rationalized, though it was clear this man thought it was about Harry.

“Who are you?” Luna asked, which, bless her. Harry hadn’t known how to ask that question, but he’d been really curious since the man not only knew who he was but was calling him by his given name, something that no one except Luna, Hagrid, and Dumbledore had ever done. Like with Hagrid and Dumbledore, this just made him uncomfortable. He hated it when strangers treated him like they were old friends, even ones that had known his parents. It was just creepy.

“Oh,” the man smiled, “Remus Lupin, though I suppose you’ll both want to call me Professor. I’ll be teaching you Defense Against the Dark Arts this year.”

Luna and Harry exchanged a glance. That didn’t exactly give them much confidence that the man wasn’t a bumbling idiot or a total creep.

Harry continued to munch on his frog as he dug into his bag and fished out his potions text for the year. It was as good as anything to read right now. Anything more complex might go right over his head at the moment anyway. Potions, at least, was easy. He’d read so much on the subject that his year level stuff had ceased to provide any challenge at all, but he figured that was what he needed at the moment. Anything to stop thinking about those bloody memories.

Luna quickly followed suit and Harry saw out of the corner of his eye as the man, Lupin, smiled at them both before looking out the window.

The rest of the ride, only about ten minutes, thankfully passed in silence.

On the ride up to the school, Harry leaned close to Luna and whispered in her ear so the Hufflepuffs sharing the carriage with them wouldn’t hear, “He saved us, didn’t he?”

“Yes. Cast a Patronus Charm.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “I guess it was a good thing we sat there,” he noted neutrally. This had to be proof that Luna was a Seer of some kind.

Luna quietly hummed her agreement and they said no more about it.


	5. Year Three - Part 2

The school year started like any other, with the added bonus of electives this year. While his core classes continued on basically as they had the past two years with him doing just enough to pass whenever he wasn’t interested in the material or when he happened to know how to do it from his extracurricular studies, the new classes proved wholly disappointing. And, actually, in the case of Care of Magical Creatures, quite alarming.

Harry had signed up for the class expecting to learn from old Professor Kettleburn. Instead, he’d retired and the students had been stuck with Hagrid, of all people. Harry wasn’t sure what to think about him as a person. He didn’t particularly like or dislike him. He’d been mean to the Dursleys which had been a singularly fantastic thing to see. He’d also given Dudley a tail, which had gotten Harry a sound lashing. He acted like he wanted to befriend Harry, but the man was plain unnerving between his size, his apparently simple mind, and the quick temper he’d displayed when Harry had first met him. He was also loud and acted like he knew Harry because he’d seen him as a baby once.

Essentially, Harry found the man rather creepy, he supposed. As a teacher, however, the man was terrifying. He couldn’t imagine what the school was thinking putting the man in charge of this class. The only class more dangerous was probably potions, but maybe not with the way Hagrid taught this class. He introduced them to dangerous creatures, gave minimal instruction, and provided no failsafe to protect them if something went wrong. Without command of a wand – that he knew how to use properly – or the ability to openly do magic anyway, Hagrid couldn’t quickly protect a student or a group of students from a distance.

Also, the way Hagrid had addressed Harry in a familiar manner in the middle of class had singled him out in front of everyone and made him even more uncomfortable than he generally was.

Harry had taken all of these reasons to Professor Flitwick after his second class with Hagrid ceased to show any improvement from the first.

“Are you sure you want to drop the class?” Flitwick asked with concern.

“Yes,” Harry said definitively, one arm wrapped tightly around his middle while the other absently stroked the scales of the snake around his neck.

“Well, you are only required to take two electives, so I have no call to stop you, though I do hate to see my students drop classes. Can I ask why you wish to drop the class?” the professor said kindly.

Harry couldn’t help the incredulous look he threw the small man. “I’d like to live through my school years,” he said before wondering if he shouldn’t be quite so explicit with his reasoning. He quickly ducked his head, though the effectiveness of the gesture was minimized when his conversation partner was significantly shorter than him. He cleared his throat and tried again, “Also, I was hoping the class would teach me about magical creatures I might voluntarily encounter. It doesn’t seem that it will.”

Flitwick nodded solemnly though with a touch of humor in his eyes. “I see. Well, if that’s what you want, I’ll remove the class from your schedule.”

“Thank you,” Harry drooped a little in relief. He wasn’t much used to adults listening to him, much less helping him or doing as he asked, so even though he’d known that he should be allowed to do this, he’d still more than half expected it wouldn’t happen.

His other elective classes, of course, were Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. The only other options were Divination and Muggle Studies. Muggle Studies sounded pointless, for obvious reasons, and Divination, from what he’d read when considering which classes to take, was not something that was generally effective if one didn’t have the Gift. Harry didn’t expect that he did given he’d had no hint of it in his life.

Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, on the other hand, were things he’d been studying on the side since his first year. It hadn’t taken him long learning about magic to learn that Ancient Runes and Arithmancy made up a lot of the spine of it. Both were used in creating spells, wards, and he’d later learned, rituals. Both were needed, therefore, to really understand how magic worked.

It baffled him a little that the classes were electives, but he supposed knowing how and why something worked wasn’t as important to the average person as knowing how to do it. And maybe it wasn’t in a basic sense, but the disciplines would help him to improve at everything else, so he figured it would be well worth it.

The only problem with the classes was that they were starting from the very beginning and he was already moderately advanced – at least for his age. Even worse, he learned soon enough, was that they were setting a very slow pace. Looking ahead in his class book, he discovered that he’d be lucky to learn anything he didn’t already know all year.

It had been very disappointing and resulted in him doing an even more slapdash job on the written work. The practicals he did very well, however.

The other downside was Granger. She was in both of those classes with him. He’d mostly been spared her previously because Gryffindors and Ravenclaws weren’t paired together in classes very often. He’d had a couple classes with her in his first year, just one last year, and now these two as well as Defense. Unfortunately, both Runes and Arithmancy had so few students that they combined all four Houses, meaning he’d had no hope of avoiding her.

Despite the fact that Harry’s marks in the class weren’t that high overall, and despite the fact that he never raised his hand, Granger still seemed to regard him as some kind of academic rival. She got offended when he did better than her and seemed to take it as a personal challenge. She also kept trying to talk to him about studying together or asking his opinion on things, then getting really mad when he brushed her off. It was very annoying. Like it was a personal affront that someone just didn’t want anything to do with her. This was especially ridiculous because she should have realized that he didn’t want anything to do with anyone except Luna.

Maybe that’s what you got when you combined Gryffindor traits and book smarts? Who knew?

DADA with Lupin turned out to be markedly better than it had been with Quirrell or Lockhart. Lupin was both likable as a teacher and generally seemed to know what he was doing. From flipping through his book beforehand, he’d found that the year seemed to focus mostly on Dark Creatures, how to recognize them, and how to defend yourself if you encountered them. Harry thought this seemed good to know since most of the creatures were exactly the sort the average witch or wizard may actually encounter in their lives.

When they were informed that they would not only be learning how to defend themselves from a boggart, but actually trying it out on a real boggart, Harry had made certain he was at the very end of the line and gave more and more thought to faking an illness.

Or maybe not faking, since he was so nervous about having the whole class see his greatest fear that he thought he might actually be sick.

He didn’t know for sure, of course, but he had a very strong suspicion as to his greatest fear and he didn’t know what he’d do if everyone saw.

He felt dizzy and sick when his turn came around and he had no idea how to make it funny if his guess was right. His hand shook where he held his wand as his eyes fixed on the boggart.

Before he could stand in front of it properly, however, Professor Lupin stepped in between and the boggart turned into a moon, which Lupin made into a popped balloon and forced back into the cupboard.

Harry went weak with relief at the same time as his mind filled with suspicion. Why on Earth would Lupin intervene? Did he… know something about Harry’s worst fear?

The class was dismissed soon after and Harry packed his bag slowly, trying to decide if he wanted to say anything or not. Eventually, he’d hesitated so long that everyone else was gone and Lupin addressed him.

“Harry? Is everything all right?” Lupin questioned politely.

Harry withheld a grimace at the familiar address. At least Lupin was better than Hagrid - he didn’t call him that in class. “Um… yes,” he decided. “I was wondering, why did you not let me face the boggart?”

Lupin’s brow rose in surprise. “I would have thought that would be rather obvious, Harry.”

Harry shook his head, wondering if the man was trying to make him feel stupid or doing it by accident.

“Well, I had assumed, perhaps incorrectly, that it would have turned into Lord Voldemort,” Lupin ventured, watching him.

Harry’s eyes widened in disbelief. Did the man truly think that nothing really bad had happened to him since he was a baby?

“Clearly I was wrong,” Lupin went on after a moment. “Would you like to have a chance with the boggart, Harry? Right now, before lunch? You will have to face one for the final exam.”

Harry’s stomach flipped abruptly at the idea, but it had merit. He didn’t want to fail his final exam by being rendered helpless in the face of the boggart. He also didn’t like the idea of being helpless if he ever ran into one in real life. “O-okay,” he nodded, leaving his bag on his desk and trying to muster the courage the hat had seemed to think he had when he was sorted. Clenching his hands into fists at his sides, he stepped forward, wand ready, while Lupin went to the cabinet.

“Ready?” Lupin asked.

Harry nodded shakily despite the fact that he didn’t think he’d ever feel ready for this. Then Lupin opened the cabinet and Petunia stepped out with a scowl and the chipped teacup that she’d saved from the bin just for his use.

Harry swayed on his feet and the room kind of blurred around him so that Petunia was the only thing he was really seeing. She didn’t speak, just thrust the tea in his direction with a threatening scowl, just like she always did, and Harry stumbled away from her, shaking his head repeatedly. “Not again. No, no, no. Not again,” he barely realized there were words coming from his lips.

And then Lupin was between him and the boggart again and the world rushed back into focus as the specter of his horrible aunt vanished.

Harry gasped for air like he’d been running for ages and stumbled, catching himself on his knee with a hand on the floor. He closed his eyes and tried to calm down. That hadn’t been exactly what he’d been expecting. It wasn’t as obvious what his fear really was, for which he was grateful, but Merlin it had been horrible. Not long ago, that had been his life and he’d had to deal with it, but it had been a while ago now that he’d convinced himself he’d never endure that again. Being faced with it once more had been a lot scarier than he’d realized it would be.

There was a warm hand on his shoulder, and he flinched away from it, stumbling his way back to his feet. He realized only afterward that it had just been Lupin. Of course, it had. They were alone in the room together except for that horrible creature.

“Are you okay?” Lupin asked gently without approaching him again.

Harry nodded shakily, which was only half-lie. He wasn’t precisely okay, but he would be. He just needed a few hours to stuff those memories into the darkest, deepest parts of his mind where they usually stayed. Damn, between the dementor and now the boggart, this was shaping up to be a very stressful year.

Harry took a deep, bracing breath, then looked at the wardrobe again. “I don’t know how to beat it,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to make that funny.”

Lupin was watching him closely, like Professor Snape did, but his eyes were much softer. “That was your aunt, right?” he inquired.

Harry glanced at him, wondering how the man knew that. Then again, with how much everyone knew about the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that people knew he’d lived with his aunt and uncle. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

“Remember what Neville did when his boggart was Professor Snape?” Lupin prompted.

Harry frowned as he thought about it. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to laugh when looking at any version of Petunia, but he figured it was worth a try.

“Do you want to try again?” Lupin prompted.

_Want to? No. Feel it necessary?_ “Yes,” he nodded.

Lupin looked worried, but he stepped back to the cupboard again as Harry stepped forward.

This time, when the boggart emerged, Harry was prepared. With more than a little vicious satisfaction, Harry pointed his wand at the Petunia-boggart, made the picture clear in his head, and snapped out, “Riddikulus!”

The teacup vanished and Petunia was left dressed in a black crop top and mini skirt with knee-high platform boots and fishnet stockings, her head completely shaved and her face covered in thick black makeup and facial piercings. Petunia detested people that dressed that way or had more than their ears pierced a single time, so it was completely in character when she shrieked, attempting to cover her exposed midsection and feel frantically for her absent hair at the same time.

The boggart was forced back into the cupboard and Harry sagged in unexpected exhaustion. Merlin, that had been hard. Worth it though, even if only to see Petunia done up like that. The image actually managed to put a small smile on his face. He was also very glad to know that he was capable of defending himself from a boggart.

“Very well done, Harry,” Lupin congratulated though worry remained in his eyes. “You best be getting on to lunch if you don’t want to miss it.”

Harry grimaced. He didn’t think he could tolerate the Great Hall right now with how fragile he was feeling. He might completely lose it if someone said or did the wrong thing to him. He just nodded to Lupin, however, and made his way back to his dorm instead. He’d made a habit of storing away a little food every day, smuggling it out of the Great Hall at meals to preserve it, shrink it, and store it in the box he kept in his bag for it. He’d have plenty to eat without going into the Great Hall.

The first Hogsmeade visit was on Halloween. Harry, of course, wasn’t permitted to attend. He hadn’t even seen his relatives last summer, so of course, he’d not been able to get the permission slip signed. He was only a little disappointed by this. Seeing the village would have been interesting, but it was certain to be crowded with people and he still had his owl order catalogs from Diagon Alley, so he didn’t really need to go for anything. Instead, he and Luna took advantage of so many people being gone from the castle to enjoy a quiet day in the library.

The day seemed to be going pretty well in general until that evening when they were all told to report to the Great Hall. Once there, they were informed that Sirius Black had attempted to gain entrance to Gryffindor Tower that evening and that the students were to sleep together in the Great Hall while the teachers searched the school for the fugitive. The tables were gone from the hall and replaced with hundreds of sleeping bags.

There was no assigned arrangement to the sleeping bags, though the houses were sticking together, as always. Harry and Luna bedded down next to each other, watching the enchanted ceiling above them. It was almost possible to believe that they were outside. At least, it would have been if not for the constant susurration of whispers replacing the sounds of frogs and bugs and wind.

The sleeping bags seemed to have built-in cushioning charms, however, and it didn’t take long for the whispers to drift off as people began to fall asleep. Harry was no exception to this. His eyes slid closed and he pondered on what it meant that Sirius Black was attacking Gryffindor Tower. Surely it meant that the man truly wasn’t after him. His mind was still turning that over when he drifted into slumber.

Luna signed up to stay at the castle with Harry that Christmas. Apparently, her dad was in Siberia investigating some story. Luna didn’t seem to mind – she never did – but Harry was a little annoyed with Xeno about it. Not that Harry minded the company because it was nice to not be alone, but it seemed like families were supposed to be together over holidays if they could possibly manage it.

He didn’t dwell long on it, but he did make sure to get her an extra-nice gift. He spent a little more than he maybe should have on a platinum charm bracelet with every other chain link filled with a small diamond and a single charm in the form of a rose gold and platinum Tree of Life. The Fates were said to dwell among the roots, so he thought it fitting while not being overly obvious. He didn’t know how good it was as a gift, but he knew that Luna liked to wear jewelry and she smiled hugely when she opened it as they sat over their gifts in the empty common room. She put it on immediately, so he figured he did all right.

He was glad that he’d put so much thought and money into her gift when he opened his and found a series of five books _For the Self-Sustaining Witch or Wizard_. The books were _Household Spells, Gardening Spells, Everyday Potions, Healing and Health for Everybody_, and _Basic Construction Spells for DIY Projects. _

“Those aren’t sold in Britain,” she explained as he reverently looked them over. “They’re quite popular in America, however. They’re supposed to have a lot of spells that aren’t often used in Britain. Some are newly created, but some are considered Dark here as well, which is why the books aren’t sold here.”

Harry had rewarded that with a smile just as huge as the one Luna had given him for her gift. These books contained exactly the kind of spells that Harry was always searching for. Things that would help him in everyday real life. Merlin, he wanted to go out and buy her a matching necklace for this.

Though it wasn’t easy, Harry managed to set aside the books to open his other presents. One was from Hagrid and seemed to be some kind of inedible brownie or cake baked far too hard to actually eat. When his spell showed that it was free of any unsavory additive and should be entirely safe to eat, Harry couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. After so long starving and desperate for any kind of sustenance, Harry found himself unequal to the task of discarding any food. Thinking that perhaps it would be edible if soaked it a bit of milk, Harry cast a preservation over it and added it to the other food he carried in his bag.

His final gift was sent anonymously as his cloak had been in his first year, but a look at the note that had come with the cloak convinced him that it wasn’t the same sender. Yes, he’d saved it. It had been suspicious. The old one had loopy, flowing handwriting and had advised him to _use it well_. This one said simply, “For Harry” in a narrow, spikey, sloppy script.

Harry used what detection spells he knew on the gift, but it came up with nothing alarming, so he set to examining it. There was a paper with instructions on it. Apparently, it was a Pocket Library. Basically an auto-shrinking bookshelf enchanted to hold enough books to fill a small library then shrink down small enough to carry in his pocket.

“Those are very expensive,” Luna commented, and Harry nodded. He didn’t remember seeing anything like it exactly when he bought his bag, but he had glanced at the shelves and trunks and such with similar enchantments and they’d been spendy.

“Why do you suppose the note isn’t signed?” Harry wondered. He’d wondered the same thing when he’d gotten his cloak, but he’d had no one to ask then.

Luna tilted her head thoughtfully, “Perhaps they didn’t think you’d accept it if you knew who it was from.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, “But why would someone like that send me a gift at all?”

“Maybe they like you more than you like them,” Luna suggested.

Harry huffed unhappily. That sounded like half the damn wizarding world. The other half, of course, hated him more than he hated them. “Well, at least they sent me something useful,” he decided. His shoulder bag was getting really full with all the books that he’d been buying the last couple years. He’d had to start shrinking things before putting them in lest they not fit, and it was a pain to do every time. He did still have his trunk, but he just left that at the foot of his bed for looks. He didn’t actually keep anything in it, and he didn’t want to start again. Sassik had been keeping his roommates at bay so far, but he didn’t trust that it would last forever, especially if he left his things just sitting there in the dorm when he was gone.

With their gifts all opened, Harry set about organizing his collection of books into the Pocket Library, leaving just his schoolbooks and a couple others that he’d been reading lately loose in the bag so it was quicker to retrieve them. As soon as the Pocket Library was shrunk down and stowed in his bag, Harry gathered his new books and started reading. He didn’t know which one to start on since they all seemed so interesting, but he ended up choosing the potion book as he knew the most about potions.

The books ended up being as fascinating as he could have imagined. A few of the spells, he already knew. About half of them were too difficult for him to manage without some serious time and effort – which he fully intended to expend – and the rest were manageable with varying degrees of difficulty. He found nearly every spell worth his time and something that he really wanted to learn.

As for the potions, there were a lot that he’d never heard of before, including some that required human blood, which Harry knew from his reading was considered Dark Arts in Britain, though apparently not in America. Mostly, the blood required was either that of the creator or willingly given blood of someone else. There didn’t seem to be anything Dark about that to him, but he didn’t fully understand the difference between Dark and non-dark magic. It was never explained at Hogwarts and he’d found no books explaining it. It seemed to just be generally assumed that Dark Magic was Bad Magic and that was it. It made Harry wonder how much of it was related to the nature of the magic and how much was related to politics.

The DIY book had instructions for building most household furniture, utensils, and some basic examples of blankets and rugs and tapestries. There was also lawn furniture, tools, and even instructions for building sheds. Finally, it had some simple runic combinations that could be carved into furniture to increase comfort and durability and prevent regular wear and tear. It was very interesting and none of it was that complicated. There were instructions for permanent transfigurations for various needed parts if one didn’t wish to buy them, though it was noted that the transfigurations could be exhausting and shouldn’t be attempted all at once but spread out over perhaps a week. There were diagnostic spells as well, to check and make sure that the parts were of good quality whether you made them or bought them.

The final book was the Healing and Health book. In it, he found diagnostic spells useful on humans and another set to be used on pets or familiars with variations depending on if you had a mammal, reptile, bird, fish, amphibian, or invertebrate. There were basic spells for cleaning wounds and closing cuts, healing abrasions, and realigning broken bones. In addition to that were potions, salves, and poultices to heal other things or assist in the healing. Cures and easements for illnesses were included as well. There were warnings all over the place about how you shouldn’t attempt these spells to heal more serious injuries and illnesses and that the spells weren’t a replacement for professional medical care. Overall, however, Harry found it to be extremely useful information that would undoubtedly make life easier if one was reluctant to go to a professional for minor ailments. They would be a lot more effective than muggle methods and he’d feel more comfortable brewing his own potions and such whenever possible rather than buying them from an apothecary.

All in all, the books were so interesting that Harry’s grades took a noticeable dip when classes resumed as he was still spending most of his free time studying those books rather than his classwork. He had taken the precaution of charming the covers of the books to look like some of the other books that he owned so that no one would notice he was reading books not necessarily approved in Britain and maybe take them away.

Shortly after classes resumed, Lupin kept Harry after class to offer him private lessons on the Patronus Charm. Harry was mildly suspicious as to the reason for the generous offer, but he was interested enough in learning the charm that he overlooked it for the moment. He’d been trying to learn the spell since the start of school considering that the dementor had completely incapacitated him in seconds and he could have lost his soul if not for Lupin being in the compartment with him.

The lessons were as frustrating as his practice alone had been. No matter what he did, he couldn’t manage to get more than a thin misty shield that he suspected would crumble in the presence of an actual dementor.

“What memory are you trying to use?” Lupin posed after his fifth failed attempt.

Harry looked at his shoes and curled an arm around his chest, his wand hand automatically coming up to stroke Sassik as he’d realized had become something of a nervous habit for him. The snake didn’t mind as she hissed in sleepy pleasure from her perch. “Um, the first time I held my wand,” Harry admitted. It had felt like power. Like strength. He’d never felt strong or powerful before in his life.

“That’s not good enough,” Lupin said without hesitation. “You need to think of something so happy that you were filled with it.”

Harry frowned, wracking his brain for such a memory. He next tried his memory of when he first met Sassik. Despite the fact it had been meant as a cruel joke, Harry had grown attached to the snake very quickly. He’d never had a pet before, of course, and one that he could talk to and understand was very fun. That memory didn’t work either, unfortunately, so he tried the memory of this Christmas when Luna gave him his gift and when she received hers. He’d felt really good then.

That too failed, however.

“Still not good enough, Harry,” Lupin chastised. “Think of something _really _happy.”

“I don’t _have _any happier memories!” Harry finally snapped, only to immediately curl in on himself when he saw the shock on Lupin’s face. “Sorry, Professor,” he murmured.

“That’s okay, Harry,” Lupin assured. “This is a very difficult spell. Most adults can’t even manage it. Try to think of birthdays, holidays, good surprises…”

Harry, if possible, curled in on himself more. “None of those ever led to happy memories,” he admitted softly. His best birthday had been his thirteenth. Luna had surprised him with a small chocolate cake with one candle on it. They’d sung him a wizarding birthday song and he’d dared to wish to never see the Dursleys again. Luna had given him a dreamcatcher, since they were in North America, after all. He’d hung it by his bed ever since and had no nightmares. He occasionally woke with a vague sense of unease, but never a proper nightmare.

That memory didn’t work either.

It wasn’t until his third weekly lesson that Harry finally managed to conjure the necessary emotion to cast the spell. The creature was a little over a meter long with four short legs, a bushy tail, and a dog-like face with short rounded ears.

“A… bear?” Harry posited thoughtfully as he examined the creature that seemed to exude happiness and contentment just as he’d been feeling when he cast it.

“I believe it’s a wolverine,” Lupin said after a moment.

“Oh,” Harry nodded. He supposed bears didn’t have long tails like that. And he had learned a bit about wolverines last summer since they lived in Canada and Xeno and Luna had gone on at length about one they’d come across one day.

“Congratulations, Harry,” Lupin smiled warmly at him.

Harry blushed a little as the silvery wolverine faded away when he stopped focusing on it. He wasn’t used to praise like that. Most of his teachers seemed to compliment him with an undertone of “why can’t you put that much effort into every lesson?” that rather detracted from the overall compliment. “It’ll be harder to cast when there’s dementors around,” Harry noted to distract from his discomfort.

“That’s true,” Remus nodded slowly. “Would you… Well, there is a spell that mimics the dementor’s despair. If you’d like, we can keep practicing with that spell in use. I can control the intensity so that it won’t be very bad to begin with.”

Harry shuddered slightly at the thought of revisiting the memories that the dementors conjured, but he nodded his head. “Yeah. I’d like that,” he half-lied. He knew that he really wouldn’t _like _it, but he would like the opportunity to beat this. He didn’t want to spend his life terrified that he’d lose his soul should a dementor ever cross his path.

And so they went on meeting on Wednesday evenings, though now the despair spell was being used while Harry tried to recreate the feat of summoning his Patronus. As expected, the effort of conjuring the happy emotion while in the presence of the despair was magnitudes more difficult. Harry thought maybe it would be easier with a proper happy memory, which is probably why it was taught the way it was. Harry just didn’t have a memory that was that happy. Not a real one. All he’d found that worked was the memory of what he’d seen in that mirror, but with him pretending that it was real. That he really had such a place to be safe and alone and at peace. He found that he had to take time in between his meetings with Lupin to just fix that happy thought into his mind over and over again until it became natural enough for him to find it even when under the despair spell.

As he got better at it, Lupin kept increasing the intensity of the despair until it reached dementor levels. In the end, it took seven lessons for Harry to really get it down and he was an emotional wreck for most of that time. He was quieter and more withdrawn with those terrible memories being pulled to the surface week after week, but he knew that it would be worth it in the end. That this could save his life.

Luna, unsurprisingly, was very understanding, even if he didn’t tell her exactly what the problem was. She was quieter than usual, more like she’d been when they’d first met, and she never prodded when he was grumpy.

When he’d finally managed to cast his Patronus twice in a row while in the presence of the despair, Lupin declared it mastered. “You’ve done incredibly well, Harry,” he assured. “Not many can manage that spell under the best conditions never mind while cursed with despair.”

Harry just nodded. He’d gotten a bit more used to Lupin’s compliments now. The man handed them out at every opportunity, and not just to Harry, which made him feel a bit better about it.

Lupin produced two mugs of hot chocolate, obviously spelled to stay warm for both were still steaming. He’d taken to doing this every lesson because the despair was alleviated by chocolate. Harry accepted his and cast the inspecting spell on it that he used on his food in the Great Hall. Lupin had gotten used to it and didn’t seem bothered by it. He’d asked the first time Harry had cast it and Harry had just shrugged and said he just liked to know what he was consuming before he did.

Harry was a few sips into his chocolate when Lupin posed, “So, Harry… I wondered if you could tell me about what it’s like for you at home?”

Harry froze at the unexpected question. It had been years since he’d heard a similar one. He’d hoped to never go through that again. Granted if he didn’t go back to the Dursleys, they couldn’t beat him for telling, but what if someone did make him go back? And anyway, if he wasn’t going back, then none of this even mattered anymore. “Why do you want to know?” Harry asked quietly, his stomach protesting the bit of chocolate he’d drank and causing him to set the cup down, choosing instead to wring his hands together in his lap.

“Well, your boggart took the form of your aunt,” Lupin pointed out. “And you had a very hard time finding happy memories.”

Harry shrugged stiffly. “They never liked me,” he admitted, understating things a bit. “They ignored my birthdays and gave me lots of chores… It doesn’t matter anymore. I stay with Luna’s family during the summer now,” he admitted.

Lupin was silent for a long moment before Harry heard him sigh, still stubbornly refusing to look at the man. “You stayed with the Lovegoods last summer?”

“Yes,” Harry nodded quickly. “They go on holiday in the summer. I went with. They invited me again this summer. The Dursleys won’t miss me.”

“No,” Lupin said after a moment, “I don’t suspect they would. Okay, Harry.”

Deciding to take that as a dismissal, Harry hopped up and headed for the door, throwing a quick, “Bye, Professor,” over his shoulder.

Blessedly, Lupin didn’t try to speak to him privately again. Harry had no interest in the man’s pity or empty promises of making things better. Harry had got himself out of that house and he was never going back, even if the Lovegoods didn’t want to take him anymore. He had a tent now. He could just take a train out of the city and camp in the woods somewhere for the summer. The Forest of Dean, maybe. He could owl-order food without giving his name so long as he had money to hire an owl and pay in advance, and he could wash laundry in the kitchen sink if necessary and hang them to dry in trees. It’d be leagues better than the Dursleys.

In February, rumors flew around the school of Sirius Black having successfully infiltrated Gryffindor Tower and the third-year boys’ dorm, though no one was injured. Lots of people seemed to think that he was looking for Harry but just didn’t realize that he wasn’t a Gryffindor like his parents had been. Others whispered that Black had hidden something in there when he’d been a student – a Gryffindor, apparently – and he was searching for it.

Harry mostly figured that it was either proof that Black wasn’t after him or that the man was so addled that he couldn’t figure out what House Harry was in, in which case, he figured he didn’t have to be too worried about the man successfully attacking him.

Luna didn’t seem worried about it anyway, which was some comfort. She often seemed to know things and if she wasn’t worried, then Harry figured he wasn’t in immediate danger.

In the midst of final exams, word circulated the school that Sirius Black had been caught attacking Ron Weasley, but the man had escaped again within a couple of hours. Ron Weasley went home early, lending credence to the idea that he’d been attacked.

Professor Lupin announced his resignation shortly thereafter. Harry and Luna were a little sad to see him go as he’d actually been a pretty good teacher and his classes had been fun. Still, Harry hadn’t been real comfortable with just how closely the man had watched him both before and after their private lessons. At least with Professor Snape, he was kind of getting used to it. He didn’t really think the man would approach him or try to do anything about whatever he might have observed in his watching. Lupin _had _tried to talk to him and was much more likely to try to intervene in Harry’s life, so he was rather glad to see the back of him for that reason.

When summer break finally arrived, Harry and Luna floo’d to her house once more from the train station and were promptly informed by a very excited Xeno, that they were headed for the Australian Outback in search of the elusive Umgubular Slashkilter. Harry didn’t know what that was, but he supposed he’d hear all about it over the course of the summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote most of this just this morning and the rest last night. I have no idea how long this will last, so please don't hold your breath for additional chapters every single day.


	6. Year Four - Part 1

The Umgubular Slashkilter, it turned out, was a gazelle-like creature about knee-height, that lived primarily off insects and was capable of short-range apparation. That ability combined with a natural confundus aura it emitted when startled was enough to allow it to go on nearly without human notice.

At least, that’s what the Lovegoods told Harry. By the end of summer, he’d still seen no proof of their existence. Xeno seemed no less convinced and Luna... well, whether she actually believed in all of these creatures or just embraced them because it gave her a way to bond with her father, Harry had no idea. Honestly, he didn’t much care, either. Luna was his friend without expecting him to be anything except what he was. He treated her the same.

Overall, the summer went well. The weather during the days was lovely, but mornings and evenings were rather chilly and overnight was downright cold. It wasn’t a Scottish winter by any stretch of the imagination, but certainly more cold than he was used to in summer. Not that it _was _summer in Australia, hence the cold.

There were climate control charms on the tent, thankfully, keeping it a comfortable temperature all the time, but without access to his wand, he was helpless to keep himself comfortable outside.

At least, that was the case until Xeno heard him complaining to Luna about the injustice of being banned from using magic during the summer.

“You’re not actually,” the man had laughed a little, then explained when he saw he’d gained their full attention. “The Trace is placed on wands when they’re sold,” he’d offered. “It’s not on you. So long as you’re not using your wand, you can do all the magic you like.”

He’d then disappeared into his tent again, shaking his head and chuckling to himself.

Harry and Luna had looked at each other in wonder.

“Is wandless magic possible?” Harry had inquired. He’d never read about it and just assumed magic couldn’t be done without a wand.

“Yes,” Luna had admitted serenely. “It’s much more difficult. Most people can’t do it or don’t bother to try.”

Harry had turned that around in his head for a couple of hours before deciding to give it a try. He retreated to his tent a bit early that night and settled comfortably on his bed. He started with the Lumos because it was the simplest spell he could think of. It required no wand movement at all. He spent nearly two hours at it, attempting different things, trying to project it onto his fingertip, into his palm, at the tip of all fingers together, between his two hands like he was holding water, between all ten fingertips held together. He also tried to concentrate in different ways, on different things and such.

Eventually, a weak glow appeared in his palm, between the cage of his raised fingers. Elation coursed through him so strong for his miniscule success that he lost control of the spell and had to start all over again. After another ten minutes, however, he’d managed to summon the light again.

He tried to run through in his head everything that he’d done each time in common that had worked to summon the light, struggling to figure out exactly what was necessary. Was it the way he held his hand? Was it what he was thinking? What he was feeling?

Trial and error seemed the way to go, so Harry reluctantly released the spell and began trying to conjure it again. After another half hour of this and five more successes, Harry had managed to marginally increase the brightness of the light and to determine that the particular way he was concentrating was the key.

This had happened in the second week of the summer. Over the remaining eight weeks of summer, Harry discovered that wandless magic was a marvelous hobby. Instead of doing nothing but reading all summer – though there was a lot of that, as well as flying – Harry spent a lot of his free time practicing wandless magic. He didn’t just try to cast spells, but also started a journal recording everything he did, what worked and what didn’t, and everything that he learned about the differences between wanded and wandless spells.

And there _were _differences. That was the most fascinating part. Though he’d started trying to figure out wandless magic as a way of using it out of school without getting in trouble, he soon found that it was so much more than that. Casting with a wand was about precision of pronunciation and wand movement. If you did what you were supposed to do, you pretty much got the exact same result. Ten people could cast the same basic spell with the same wand movement and incantation and get almost exactly the same result.

But _wandless _casting… That was entirely different. It was about concentration and intent. It was… The magic wasn’t just drawn through you like you were an afterthought in the process. That was the difficult part. You had to concentrate properly to actually find the magic within yourself and then call it out to be of use. With a wand, it kind of did the finding and connecting and calling out for you. Probably why some wands worked better for some people than others. You wanted the wand that best connected to your magic – your core – so that it could draw the most magic the most easily.

Doing it without a wand was definitely the hard way. Simple spells were draining whereas with a wand, he’d never even noticed a draw. Despite that, however, he _felt _the magic like never before. And in feeling the magic, he understood it. He could feel the differences between spells. It was nearly impossible to put into words what it felt like, but the differences were there. He could finally begin to understand how some spells could be labeled Dark. He didn’t know how much people used the term Light magic, as he’d not really heard or read about it much. There was just Dark and everything else, but some magic _felt _light. It felt… warm and peaceful and sometimes even happy. Other magic felt dark and dangerous and sometimes malicious. The only problem with that theory was that “Dark Magic” didn’t necessarily line up with what felt dark.

Which made sense if the magic being categorized was done by people who’d never used wandless magic.

Harry thought that maybe the term had come about from people who used wandless magic, or even before wands were invented. He knew they’d been around for a really long time, but it wasn’t like someone just threw together some weird magical creature bit like a unicorn hair and a stick of wood and suddenly the first spell was cast and magic was discovered. People must have come up with wands as a way to make magic easier, which means that before that, people used magic without them. Whatever the case, people came up with Dark magic because it felt that way. Then wands got popular and they stopped casting wandless magic, but they kept deciding new things were Dark, only now they were basing it off other things than the magic and it all got confused.

The more spells that Harry cast, the more fascinated he became by wandless casting. He filled his journal with thoughts about the process, about the differences and similarities between different spells, trying to put them into general groups.

That all kept him quite entertained throughout the summer. Needless to say, the warming charm was one of the first he mastered wandlessly, and the rest of the summer mornings and evenings went much more pleasantly for it. When his birthday rolled around, Luna and Xeno again celebrated with a small cake, chocolate fudge cake with cholate frosting because Harry had a little bit fallen in love with chocolate since he’d discovered it upon entering Hogwarts.

Most days, he spent at least an hour or so on his broom. He’d avoided mornings and evenings due to the cold at first, but after mastering a wandless warming charm, Harry was able to venture out on his broom whenever the mood struck.

They returned to England on the 30th again and Harry and Luna went to Diagon Alley alone on the 31st for their school shopping. Harry didn’t buy anything too expensive this year. He didn’t really need anything and he still felt a little guilty about spending so much on the Firebolt last summer, even though he didn’t really regret it. He hadn’t gotten much chance to fly it last school year because he didn’t like to feel like he was being watched at it, but he’d adored it over the summer. With the wide open spaces completely devoid of people, he’d been able to fully enjoy himself. The broom was so fast and so responsive, it was like an extension of his will rather than a tool he had to manipulate. 

He did, of course, buy some extra books, but nothing unduly expensive. Over the course of their shopping, Harry and Luna learned of the results of the Quidditch World Cup that had taken place in the last week. Krum had caught the snitch but his team had still lost. That was rare. Harry had never really cared for the game. He’d learned the rules in his first year, but it had seemed absurdly weighted toward the Seeker position to him. Like it was really just a game between Seekers with everyone else just entertaining the crowd until the snitch was caught. Unless there was a large disparity between the skill of the teams, the odds of one team being up by more than a hundred fifty points when the snitch was caught were very slight. As long as they kept it within that range, the entire game just hinged on which Seeker won. It was ridiculous to Harry, but he didn’t risk saying that aloud unless he was very certain he and Luna were alone. A person could get himself in trouble saying that to the wrong person.

As for Luna, she liked the excitement and the atmosphere of a Quidditch game but truly didn’t care about the game itself, so she didn’t mind if he bitched about the mechanics of it. 

Xeno was still there this time when Harry and Luna returned from their shopping, but he mostly remained closed in his office working on the copy that was to go out in the morning. 

When the morning of September 1st rolled around, Xeno pulled himself away from his work long enough to place a kiss on Luna’s head and a friendly hand on Harry’s shoulder before ushering them through the floo. 

The train ride this year passed, thankfully, without incident. Harry and Luna each enjoyed their packed lunch before indulging in butterbeer and candy from the trolley, maintaining a private compartment and reading in silence the whole way. Every now and then one of them would comment on something they were reading, leading to a brief exchange of thoughts before silence settled once more. Harry couldn’t help but find it very enjoyable. He never could have imagined this when he’d first come to Hogwarts. He’d thought he’d be completely alone forever because he’d never met a person that he liked to be around. 

Looking back now with his few more years of wisdom, Harry could admit that he still didn’t like to be around _ most _people, but he could also admit that some of them – very, very few – could be okay. Lupin had turned out mostly tolerable after all. When he wasn’t being nosy. 

During the Welcome Feast, Dumbledore announced that Quidditch for the year would be canceled, which elicited the expected out of proportion – in Harry’s opinion – outrage. Luna just looked slightly saddened and Harry awkwardly patted her on the shoulder in comfort. He wasn’t very good at that, but Luna did it for him when she thought he needed it and it was kind of nice, so he wanted to return the favor. It seemed to work for she gave him a bright smile for his effort. 

“The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be the most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities – until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued.” 

Harry looked around the Hall full of excited, gossiping students and he could only shake his head in disbelief. Seriously, what essential life lesson had all of these kids missed out on that they’d yet to learn that risking your life wasn’t all that exciting? 

“There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “none of which has been very successful. However, our own Departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger. 

“The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October and the selection of three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand galleons personal prize money.” 

The students lost their minds at promises of glory and riches. Harry had to admit, a thousand galleons was a tidy sum of money, but was it worth facing possible death? He seemed to be in the minority in thinking not. It was just so stupid! There were a million ways to earn money with little to no risk of personal safety. 

“You see,” Harry hissed quietly to Luna on the way back to the common room, “this is why I maintain that people are stupid.” 

Luna just gave him a vaguely amused smile and continued humming a tune as they walked. 

By the time he was settled into bed that night, Harry had decided that the only possible response to this insanity on his part was to ignore it. Let the idiots be idiots and don’t let it bother him. 

It wasn’t like any of them actually mattered in the long run. 

The DADA teacher that year turned out to be insane as far as Harry could tell. The man turned a Slytherin student into a ferret on the very first day. To be fair, he was probably the most obnoxious student in Harry’s year or at least in sharp contention for the spot, and may very well have deserved it, but still. Harry’d have been fine with it if another student had done it, but it was rather unnerving to see a teacher do that. Didn’t tend to make one feel very safe. Sure, Snape was a bastard to anyone he didn’t particularly like right that moment, but at least he’d never physically or magically attacked a student to Harry’s knowledge. He seemed perfectly capable of taking out all his anger and getting his point across with his words alone. Moody was a wildcard and Harry didn’t like it. 

So, naturally, the man started casting Unforgiveable curses on them the very first lesson. And yeah, Harry could see the benefit of learning what it felt like to be under the spell and maybe learning to try to fight it. It was just that the man seemed to enjoy himself an awful lot while he was doing it. And while he was torturing a spider. It was creepy as hell. 

When it was cast on him, Harry felt the foreign magic slam into his body like a freight train. Maybe it was the wandless magic training he’d done over the summer, but the magic that was trying to be subtle about making him want to do something stood out in his mind like it was surrounded by flashing neon signs and he felt only a mild need to do as it said before he was able to break the magic’s connection to him and it dissolved away in moments. 

Relief swept through him when the teacher declared that he’d done it, defeated the spell. He then immediately cast the spell twice more as though the first may have been a fluke. Each successive time was easier than the one before, Harry noticed. 

Harry was glad this was one less thing for him to worry about in an increasingly dangerous world. Well, it wasn’t getting more dangerous. He was just learning about more and more things that could kill him, hurt him, or control him. Quite frankly, it was the last that he found the most alarming. 

What he does learn when he looks into it is that those with a resistance to the Imperius Curse also tend to excel at the Mind Arts, which is a branch of magic that involves controlling your own mind, protecting it from others, or alternately penetrating the minds of others to learn their thoughts and view their memories. Naturally, learning this made Harry seek out information about this discipline. Better control of his own mind sounded like something that would greatly help with his wandless casting, for one. Protecting himself from people trying to read his thoughts sounded bloody fantastic, for two. 

Between Luna and himself, they managed to find some good books to owl order on it as the library had nothing with any explicit instruction. At least nothing that wasn’t in the restricted section. Getting a pass to get in there was more work than it was worth when you could just order the damn books and then have the freedom to read them at leisure rather than doing so huddled under the cover of darkness. Though they didn’t really talk about it, Luna began studying the books with Harry. He didn’t find this surprising. Any Ravenclaw worth their salt should want to learn this once they knew it existed. It was supposed to vastly boost memory retention, after all. 

In the second week of school, news traveled around the school that Granger was trying to start a crusade to free house-elves, which was so amazingly ignorant and arrogant that Harry wasn’t actually surprised that Granger came up with it. That girl was really something else, pretending to know better than everyone when she was still a stranger to this world. Harry could only imagine that she was restricting herself severely in her reading and then staunchly believing every word she read of just that one side of things. Harry himself saw nothing wrong with anything Dark because aside from a general theme of “it’s bad” no one had ever given him a good reason to believe it was wrong. From everything that he’d seen – and now felt – Dark magic was just magic like any other if generally aggressive in nature. “Dark” politically was just those who believed in wizarding traditions and isolation from muggles. Yes, there were some extremists that wanted to kill anything they didn’t like, but one couldn’t judge an entire political party on the actions of a few terrorists with similar leanings. 

Not really anything morally wrong with any of this. 

As to house-elves, they were a breed of weakly magical, short-lived creatures that at one point signed into service with wizards in exchange for a bond that would make them much more powerful and longer-lived. If any society of free elves remained, they’d either died out or gone into hiding a very long time ago. While it was possible that some house-elves had such evil masters that they likely would have rather been freed, trying to forcibly free house-elves treated well – as Hermione was doing to the Hogwarts elves – was akin to trying to convince humans that if they’d just let themselves die in their early twenties, they could have wonderfully relaxing, stress and work-free time during their short lives. And then, you know, if they weren’t convinced just... force them. For their own good. 

Humans worked to have better lives. House-elves worked to have better lives. No one was being oppressed besides the few house-elves employed by sadists. Shouldn’t that mean that the movement should be to free house-elves from bad situations and move them to better ones…? 

Granger was an idiot. 

Harry had learned all of this by asking Luna after reading a bit about them in books. The books he read didn’t go into much detail about how the bond worked, which was undoubtedly what was tripping up Granger. These things were so normal for wizards that writers didn’t often think to mention the historic details. Why History of Magic didn’t cover it was… well fairly self-explanatory to Harry. One just needed to look at – or _ through _– the teacher to see that the class was severely lacking. 

When Granger was actually foolish enough to approach Harry and Luna leaving the Great Hall after breakfast one day, Luna had looked at the SPEW badge like it was a dead rat and coolly informed the muggleborn, “I’m sorry. I don’t believe in harming innocent magical creatures,” and then walked away before Granger could argue her innocence. 

Granger had immediately turned to Harry, who was the one she’d been trying to approach in the first place as Harry was unfortunate enough to be considered Granger’s intellectual equal – at least that’s what Granger’s actions suggested. “You have to agree with me,” she demanded. “You were raised in the muggle world, right? You must see how wrong slavery is.” 

Harry sighed, his left eye twitching slightly as he fought the need to snap at the bint. It may have been satisfying, but he didn’t want to make a scene. “Just… do better research before you take up a cause, Granger. You look like an idiot acting like you think you’re helping when you’re really trying to hurt them.” 

Granger was silent for a moment, her mouth flapping as she searched for words. “What are you talking about!?” she finally gasped. “I _ do _ want to help them! They’re _ enslaved _! They need to be freed. I know that they don’t realize it, but that’s because they’ve been brainwashed for so long they don’t know any better. If we just gave them freedom, they’d learn they were better off!” 

Well, she was passionate. Harry had to give her that. He considered a few responses and dismissed them as likely to prolong this… conversation, which he was trying to avoid. “Just ask a pureblood about how house-elf bonds actually work, and don’t assume that you know the answer before they start talking,” he offered, then pushed passed her before she could say more. He walked away feeling a little like he’d just done his good deed for the month. After all, he could have just called her an idiot and left. He didn’t have to give her good advice. 

With Granger mercifully avoiding him and Harry actively ignoring everything tournament-related, the first two months of school passed fairly quickly. Most of his classes were exactly as they’d been the previous year – repetitious and/or pointless – and Moody’s classes weren’t shaping up to be too bad. They required everyone to be wide awake and paying full attention at all times for the teacher was prone to start throwing around random spells at anyone whose attention drifted, then chastising them to “constant vigilance” before continuing the lesson as though nothing had happened. You had to be careful because he might hit you with a tickling or wakefulness charm or he might just get you with a weak stinging hex or the jelly jinx which would have you sliding right out of your chair. There was a rumor he’d petrified someone for a whole lesson after catching him dozing off too many times, but Harry didn’t know if it was true. 

He also had a strange and unnerving tendency to watch Harry intently. Granted, Harry was used to this as Snape had been doing the same since Harry’s first year and Lupin had done it last year. Harry figured it was because he was the Boy-Who-Lived and everyone was interested in seeing him either live up to or disappoint their expectations. Or just do something interesting they could gossip about. It’s part of the reason he tried to avoid doing anything noteworthy. 

One thing Harry did notice is that his practical performance had gone up quite a bit in every class since he’d started learning wandless magic. With a greater ability to feel the magic and a better understanding of what it was and how it worked just from his own study of it, he now found it magnitudes easier to make the spells that they were taught not only work, but work exactly as they should. It was harder to control his magic through his wand, but that was getting a little better as he got better at occlumency. 

Harry was trying so hard to ignore every mention of the tournament that he didn’t even realize the foreign schools were due to arrive that very day until Luna told him they needed to go down to watch their arrival. 

This seemed a bit odd to Harry, but he supposed that made it par for the course in the wizarding world. Why wouldn’t they all go stand around in the cold to wait for the first sight of them instead of sitting inside where it was warm and seeing them five or ten minutes later? 

Bloody stupid people. 

And, okay, so their arrival was mildly impressive. Harry hadn’t even realized that the Black Lake connected to the ocean, but there must have been a river. Or possibly an underground river, given the way they’d shown up like a submarine. And the flying carriage was impressive, though Harry rather hoped there were powerful magical shock absorbers on that thing because it landed hard. 

When Durmstrang showed up, it took Harry a while to figure out why everyone was so excited about one of the boys. Eventually, he recalled that the name “Krum” they were all tossing about with such reverence was that Quidditch player from the World Cup. Harry immediately rolled his eyes and set about ignoring that as well. 

From the Beauxbatons group, the headmistress was apparently a half-giant, which was marginally interesting. Harry spent a few seconds wondering about the mechanics of twenty-foot giants and normal humans conceiving a child. Then he shuddered and hoped the thought never crossed his mind again. 

Also with that group was a decently pretty student that Luna whispered to him was part veela, which explained why so many of the students had transferred their adoration from Krum to this girl. At least Krum had a talent for them to be impressed by. Harry couldn’t begin to imagine what this girl had done to earn anyone’s regard besides being born with pleasant features and apparently a creature for a parent or grandparent. 

It was pretty annoying, really. 

It also got him thinking as they made their way back inside. He’d read a bit about veela. Nothing profound, but enough to know that their allure worked by magnifying attraction. So if you’d normally be very attracted to someone that looked like her, you’d be ten times more attracted with the allure from her creature. 

And Harry felt not the smallest attraction toward her, which could only mean… Well, zero times ten was still zero. He knew that she was a pretty girl. He probably _ should _have been at least a little attracted to her, and if he was it would be magnified and impossible to miss, which meant… 

It meant that he was stuck facing a fact about himself that he’d been trying to pretend didn’t exist for the last couple of years. 

“I have an uncle that’s married to a man,” Luna said casually, completely without prompting just as Harry was beginning to get a little depressed. 

Harry looked at her but couldn’t bring himself to say anything. 

“He moved to America when my mum died and I haven’t heard from him since,” Luna admitted, “but he was married to a man and they had three kids together.” 

“They can adopt in the wizarding world?” Harry asked carefully. 

“Oh, yes,” Luna said easily. “It’s quite ordinary here. My uncle didn’t adopt, though. His husband carried their kids.” Harry nearly walked into a wall as they entered the Great Hall and Luna went on without waiting for him to ask, “Well, there’s potions and such involved, naturally. Men weren’t really meant to have babies, after all, but it’s been a few hundred years since the process was created.” 

“Huh,” Harry said quietly as they took their seats at the Ravenclaw table. 

Neither of them spoke anymore as they were called to order so the night’s festivities could begin. 

They did eventually get around to the food and then the lighting of the Goblet of Fire and the first people went up to put in their names. Harry didn’t really pay much attention since they honestly could not matter much less. They were very obviously Stupid People, far worse even than your average, run-of-the-mill stupid people. 

He went up to his dorm early that night, needing time completely alone to think over what he was finally admitting about himself since denying it while in the presence of that damn French veela seemed pretty ridiculous. Mostly, he knew that no one was less than someone else just because they were attracted to their own gender. Logically that just made sense. Despite that, however, there was a lifetime with the Dursleys. Listening to Vernon and Petunia bemoan the immorality, the depravity, the unnaturalness of homosexuals had sunk in a bit. Just enough for his first thought about someone gay was “wrong” before his actual, considered opinion of “who really cares?” could kick in. 

He supposed he was going to have to get over that if he was going to be gay, and he didn’t think he was getting a choice in the matter. At least Luna had made it sound like it was normal enough in the wizarding world. Like no one would be horrified by it. Like it wouldn’t make him a Freak or even all that notable. 

He’d be okay, he decided. If nothing else, he knew he’d still have Luna and that was fine since no one else mattered. 

All the next day during meals there were people going up and putting their names in the goblet. Harry tried to ignore it, but it was hard. The entire hall tended to fall near enough silent whenever someone approached the Goblet and then suddenly become even louder when they walked away. It was very frustrating. Younger students whinging about not being able to enter themselves was even worse. The younger they were, the more likely they’d die during the tournament, that’s why it was limited. And yet these idiots felt the need to complain about it. Harry didn’t know if he found it more annoying that most of them would probably be too afraid to actually enter their names if given the chance or that a lot of them really would. 

He kind of wished they were allowed. Maybe one of them would be picked and die and the human race would be a little bit better for their failure to procreate. 

He was actually relieved when the time came for the “champions” to be selected because it meant that at least this stage of this insanity would be passed. Perhaps mealtimes would become more tolerable. 

As he didn’t bring a book, Harry was forced to actually listen to what was going on, so he noticed that Krum is picked as the Durmstrang champion and then Fleur for the Beauxbatons champion. 

Luna suddenly grabbed his hand and Harry looked at her in alarm. Her face was scrunched up in worry, but before Harry could ask what was the matter, Dumbledore called out, “And the champion for Hogwarts is... Harry Potter!” 

Harry looked sharply back up at the front to find everyone up there looking at him. A quick glance around proved that everyone _ else _was looking at him as well. 

“Harry Potter!” Dumbledore called again. “Come up here!” 

“Go,” Luna urged. 

With a last glance at her, Harry reluctantly stood and approached the front. 

“Join the others,” Dumbledore said gravely when Harry just stopped in front of him. 

As Harry stepped into the staff room where the champions – other champions – were gathered, his mind finally began moving again and it occurred to him that he’d just been chosen as Hogwarts’ champion. Him. A fourteen-year-old. Not only was he forbidden from participating due to his age, but it should have been impossible simply because he didn’t put in his name. 

Before his thoughts could get too far, Dumbledore entered the room with the other headmasters and the ministry stooges, already deep in conversation. The foreign headmasters were asking Dumbledore about how this had happened when he cast the age line himself. They were complaining that they’d have brought more students had they known a younger one could be chosen. Crouch was going on about it being highly irregular and the other one, Bagman, just seemed terribly excited by the unexpected turn of events. 

Then Dumbledore got right in Harry’s face and demanded, “Did you put your name in the goblet?” 

“No,” Harry protested, stepping hastily back. 

“Did you get an older student to do it for you?” 

Harry blinked at him, “That would work? Well then how do you know that someone older didn’t put my name in hoping I’d get picked and die?” he demanded. He’d had the thought about some of the little idiots but he’d not have done it even had he been of age. That didn’t mean someone else wouldn’t. 

“The goblet would only accept your name written by your own hand,” Crouch corrected. 

Harry stared at the man a moment before posing, “I write my name on every essay I write. Anyone could have gotten hold of an old one and cut off the bit with my name.” 

No one seemed to have an answer to that. 

Harry took a calming breath and asked, “So, what do I have to do? You can just pick someone else, right?” The looks exchanged did not give him hope. “I’m underage. You all made the stipulation that no one underage could participate, so you can’t force me. Right?” 

“Actually,” Crouch spoke up, “I’m afraid you’ll have no choice but to compete, Mr. Potter. The Goblet has gone out and will not light again until the next tournament. It must be you.” 

“And if I refuse?” Harry asked, starting to get desperate. He didn’t want to risk his life, he didn’t want to be a bloody spectacle for all of Europe, and he damn well didn’t want any more fucking “glory”. Everyone believed he killed the bloody Dark Lord and they still abandoned him in the muggle world and couldn’t care less if he was living on the street all summer. He hardly expected any more consideration for winning a stupid tournament for children. 

As for the thousand galleons, he had plenty in his vault to survive until he turned twenty-five and then enough for the rest of his life. He had absolutely no need of more. He’d much prefer to struggle a bit than risk his life. 

“Then you will lose your magic,” Dumbledore answered gravely. “The Triwizard Cup represents a binding magical contract. When your name, written in your own hand was entered, you swore to participate. Failure to do so will render you a squib for the rest of your life.” 

Harry flexed his jaw in impotent rage. They were really going to force him. “This could be someone trying to kill me!” he couldn’t help but complain. 

“It may be,” Moody said in his ominous manner as he stumped into the room, magical eye flying wildly before settling on Harry along with his real one. “It may be an attempt to kill you, Potter, but the Goblet wasn’t tampered with. The Goblet of Fire was not created to discriminate by age, only ability. Whether you entered your name yourself or not, it chose you because you were the most worthy. Impressive for a fourth year.” Both eyes examined Harry as though the man suspected him of something nefarious making him so impressive. 

Everyone else, Harry realized, was staring at him now as well. 

“Well, there you have it!” Bagman declared with a clap of his hands. “The Goblet worked as it was supposed to, our three champions have been chosen! Come on then, you lot, gather ‘round so I can explain the First Task.” 

Harry’s stomach settled firmly into his shoes as everyone seemed willing to drop the subject of his unwilling entry and get on as though nothing was wrong. 

On his walk back to the common room after learning about the First Task, Harry gave serious thought to whether life as a muggle would really be all that bad. At least he’d be alive. 

By the time he’d reached his dorm, he knew that he’d go through with the damn tournament. It may not be worth a thousand galleons or any amount of glory, but he wouldn’t lose his magic over this. His magic was far too precious, especially with everything he’d come to learn about it since beginning his study of wandless magic. His magic was a part of him and he wouldn’t let it be taken from him even if living a happy life without it was possible. He’d not blind himself in an attempt to protect himself, though many people lived happy lives without sight. He wouldn’t do this either. 

The walk through the common room resulted in a lot of angry and accusatory looks as well as comments about him “stealing” Hogwarts victory. They seemed to think he had no chance of winning and he’d selfishly cheated and now they would lose. 

Fucking Idiots. 

He looked around for anyone looking chagrined or sheepish or vindictive. Anyone who may have entered his name. He saw no likely suspects and silently retreated to his dorm. 

Once he was closed behind the sealed and silenced curtains, he set about clearing his mind with his budding occlumency, settled back into a comfortable meditation pose, and lit a small fire in each palm. The fires were barely more than a candle flame and certainly not enough to be draining on his magic, but it did cause his magic to flow through his body constantly, a sensation that he’d found helped to center him and made meditation easier. 

When his mind felt at ease, he examined his problem and began searching for a solution. He was going to have to compete in the tournament. Fine. What did he need to do to make sure he came out alive, and if possible, victorious? He knew that he didn’t need to win, but after facing the other students in the common room, he really fucking wanted to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got Year Four completely plotted and it's really long, so don't expect this year to pass over the course of just two parts.


	7. Year Four - Part 2

After his name came out of the Goblet, Harry learned an entirely new level of discomfort. It was much like his first days as a student when everyone was staring and whispering, except worse. People were staring again, but they weren’t bothering to whisper. They wanted him to hear what they had to say about him. And none of it was pleasant. Not everyone hated him, of course, but those who didn’t mostly just looked away. Some gave him sympathetic or apologetic looks first. As if that was any help at all.

Reminding himself of the insignificance and general meaningless of all these people had become something of a mantra repeated in his head basically all the time when he wasn’t concealed in his bed.

It was excessively exhausting.

And in the midst of this chaos, he still had to get passing grades – for fear of being kicked out – and try to prepare himself for facing a competition that had a reputation for killing the competitors.

Luna, bless her clairvoyant soul, had gifted him a book about dragons a few days after he was chosen. She’d told him only that he’d need it. That combined with the grave look on her face had been enough for him to memorize the damn book. It contained the strengths, weaknesses, habitats, mating habits, and behavior of every dragon species in the world.

Harry did not like his chances if they were really meant to fight fucking dragons in the First Task. It was supposed to be about daring and courage in the face of the unknown. Hadn’t Dumbledore said something about planning out the tasks in the hopes no one would die this time around? And yet they were fighting dragons and supposed to go into it completely blind?

What the fuck?

Harry’s only consolation through all of this was that the Goblet hadn’t been tampered with. Of every Hogwarts student to enter their name – or have it entered by someone else – Harry had been the one chosen. The Goblet was supposed to choose the school’s “champion” based on merit. That had to mean that he had the skill to at least stay alive through this damn tournament.

The memory of Dumbledore talking about the previous death toll of those chosen didn’t help his conviction.

Still, Harry was younger, presumably, than everyone else who’d entered. If he was chosen, it had to mean there was a reason. He wasn’t actually smarter or more learned than everyone else, not people three years above him. Perhaps his skill with wandless magic was what made him better suited for champion. It was something he doubted anyone else in the student body could do just because it was so uncommon. Most purebloods were unlikely to even try because they’d grown up believing that it was almost impossible. Even Luna hadn’t been interested in trying it herself after watching Harry do it and listening to him ramble on about his discoveries.

And Harry had devoted a lot of time and effort to understanding magic since he’d discovered wandless magic.

He could only guess this was the case and he needed to use that to his advantage. To give him a chance against his competition, who had three years of magical education on him. No matter how much reading he did, he was still at a disadvantage both for having less education and for growing up in the muggle world, which essentially robbed him of another decade of knowledge and understanding of spells and magic that he may have been able to use.

Harry spent a lot of time in the library searching for spells to help him and he owl ordered more books that might be able to help as well, though he was very careful to figure out if the spells were _considered_ Dark before adding them to those he could use in the Tournament. Whether there was anything actually wrong with Dark magic didn’t matter in this case because it wasn’t a moral issue but a legal one.

His occlumency, imperfect as it was, was helping him loads with not only remembering what he learned, but organizing those memories so the spells didn’t all blend together in his mind. He had to remember which were useful, which were not, and which were acceptable and which were not.

By late November, he’d progressed to the point that he had a functional mind palace. From what he’d learned in his reading, even the muggles could manage a version of this. They called it the method of loci and it was first adopted by the ancient Greeks though weather a squib had been the first to do it or a magical had passed it on to the muggles, the book he’d read hadn’t known. Apparently, some muggles still used it today. With the addition of magic, of course, everything just got better. Harry’s mind palace was in the form of a made-up building in the muggle style. A maze of corridors lined with doors. Each door opened into different rooms, some memories of real rooms he’d seen, some entirely made up, some opening into an outdoor space, none bothering with how large or small they should be in relation to the building they came from.

Harry had actually drawn up the map on paper and memorized it slowly as he worked on building it in his mind. He’d then burned the paper and banished the ashes, leaving the only copy in his mind.

Not all of the rooms were finished yet. Those that he didn’t need, the doors were locked. He’d add them as he made new memories that needed them. He was still working on the defenses. That was the most complex and magical part of occlumency. Even without proper walls though, the maze-like quality of his mind palace would be sure to slow down anyone trying to find something in his head.

Eleven days before the First Task, Harry was pulled out of class to attend the wand weighing ceremony, which seemed less ceremony and more just a local expert examining their wands to make sure they were standard wands in functioning order. There wasn’t much ceremony to it, and no audience save a single reporter. Naturally, the expert was Ollivander. Harry hadn’t even thought much about his secondary wand since he’d first got it. It just sat in the expanded space in his belt buckle, though he’d gotten a nicer belt and cast a much more impressive undetectable extension charm since he’d been a mere first year. He still wore the belt every day and kept his extra wand in there all the time, but it wasn’t something he often gave conscious thought.

Not until he handed Ollivander his wand and watched the man’s brow rise in surprise at the sight of it. He’d listed off it’s qualifications slowly and thoughtfully but he’d thankfully not commented. Harry wasn’t entirely sure if he was allowed to have two wands, but he’d never heard of anyone else possessing two wands suited to them at one time, which led him to believe that even if it wasn’t prohibited, it was clearly not the done thing.

Ollivander just tested his wand and moved on though, and Harry accepted his wand back gratefully when the man was done.

The reporter, Skeeter, tried multiple times to talk to him and even tried to physically drag him away to talk. Needless to say, it didn’t work. Harry did not tolerate touch from anyone, and especially not from strangers. Especially not from strangers that looked like they wanted to fucking eat him. Harry had nearly fallen on his arse stumbling away from her snatching claws, and he’d ended up scratched for his effort, but at least she hadn’t gotten hold of him. He’d given short, terse answers to her questions before that, basically just restating that he hadn’t entered his own name and was only competing because of the magical contract forcing him. After she’d tried to grab him, he’d refused to speak with her at all.

When the paper came out in the morning, the headline photo had been of the three champions together. Fleur looked determined, Krum looked grave, Harry looked pissed, which he thought was impressive restraint on his part. This entire tournament made him angry. That he was being forced to compete infuriated him. That worthless bints like Skeeter thought they’d some right to him because of the previous two facts just enraged him. He’d declined an interview, declined a solo photo, and fled the room as soon as humanly possible.

Which is why it was so astounding that she’d managed to find so much to write about him. Most of the article seemed to be about Harry. His tragic past, his lackluster grades – was that public record? – his reserved persona, his continuing to push the “unlikely” story that he’d really been entered against his will. There were anonymous quotes from his schoolmates about how he didn’t seem to really like anyone. How he obviously thought he was better than everyone. How he spent all of his time with his “girlfriend”.

Harry could see no possible response to this except to research libel laws immediately. Unfortunately, that proved tricky when it turned out the entire law section in the library was within the Restricted Section. Harry had no idea why the school considered the law a subject that shouldn’t be viewed by everyone at will, but he wasn’t going to kill himself over it. Not when he was perfectly capable of owl ordering books on wizarding law. He got the _Comprehensive Codex of Law in Wizarding Britain_ as well as _Understanding British Magical Law_ and _A Muggleborn’s Guide to British Wizarding Law_. Between the three, he began wading through magical law in search of his answers. Given how excessively limited his free time had become since he’d been entered into the tournament, he expected it to take awhile.

Just finding the spells he wanted to use against the dragon was incredibly time-consuming. After finding them, of course, he then had to learn them. Some of the spells he wanted he couldn’t find, or could only find something that was similar, but not what he needed. This had resulted in him venturing into the murky waters of spell creation with both a time limit and his life on the line if he failed.

So… no pressure.

The year’s first Hogsmeade weekend fell on the last weekend before the First Task. Harry and Luna used the quiet time to go for a long walk around the grounds. Harry, of course, still didn’t have permission to go to the village and Luna had shrugged it off when he’d inquired after her plans. “I’d rather not go alone,” had been her reasoning and he hadn’t pressed. Luna still seemed to suffer a lot of bullying around the school when they weren’t together. Harry, at least, had a scary snake around his neck, ensuring that most of his detractors bullied him with snide words alone, and he’d gotten used to brushing that off when he was very young. It still stung sometimes, but he generally got over it quickly.

Harry was grateful that Luna had chosen to stay with him anyway. They didn’t talk all that much while they were walking, just enjoying the silent companionship as they usually did.

When lunchtime rolled around, they went inside and collected some food, then took it back out to eat. The weather was cold and snowy, but Harry was putting his wandless magic to good use to keep them warm and dry.

Though he was trying to stay focused on his goals and ignoring everyone else, Harry knew that he was seriously stressed. Likely as stressed as he’d ever been in his life. He’d faced plenty of horrible situations at the Dursleys but most of them were generally brief or something completely out of his control. This was something that he had to face and overcome through his own skill and courage and failure could very well mean death, or even just disfigurement. That didn’t sound good either.

He was fourteen years old. He’d only just started to discover that life could be good. He was not ready to fight for his life.

And on top of that stress, he’d been faced with an entire school treating him like shit. Though the school had ever been too interested in him and generally seemed to think him some kind of mental deficient because he was anti-social, he’d never dealt with general hostility on this scale. The entire school seemed to have united to ostracize him. He and Luna had taken to eating two out of three meals outside of the Great Hall. Sometimes, when the weather was relatively nice, they’d eat outside. Usually they just found an empty classroom in which to sequester themselves during meals. The professors hadn’t seemed to care if they’d noticed. Harry didn’t know if they were giving him a break because of the Tournament or if they wouldn’t have ever cared, but no one said anything. At least, not the teachers. The students were using it as further proof that Harry felt himself “better” than them.

Luna had been completely indispensable to him during this time. She’d helped him comb through books for rare spells, brainstormed strategy with him, and often, in her unusual way, reminded him that he was far from helpless. In the moments when he found himself downright terrified and once more considering the merits of going through life as a squib, Luna was always there as a silent presence to remind him of what he was fighting for.

When he didn’t think his sanity could withstand one more black glare or snide remark from the other students, Luna was there to whisper in his ear that they didn’t matter, returning the words he’d given her in her first year.

By the time the day of the First Task rolled around, Harry just wanted the entire tournament to be over. He wanted his life to go back to normal - or at least the “normal” he’d grown accustomed to over the last couple of years. His life had been going pretty damn well for the first time and then this bloody tournament had to come along and muck everything up. He wished he knew who’d entered his name so he could invent a really creative curse just for them.

Flitwick found him during lunch. Harry and Luna had been eating in the Great Hall, knowing Harry would soon be collected for the First Task. Sassik was currently curled up around Luna’s neck as they were only allowed to bring their wand into the arena. Harry had even had to leave his belt behind in his bag - which Luna also possessed - because the rules cautioned that participants would be scanned for any magical items on their persons as they entered the arena.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?” Flitwick inquired sympathetically as they left the castle.

How was he feeling? Terrified. Furious that he was in this situation at all. Trapped. Nauseous. _Desperate_. “Fine,” he replied quietly. “I still can’t believe I have to do this.”

Flitwick sighed, “This is horribly unfair to you,” he agreed. “There has been an investigation into who could have entered your name, but whoever it was has covered their tracks very well.”

Great. “Why is it even possible for someone to enter someone else’s name?” he asked, almost cringing when it came out as a whine.

“I believe that,” Flitwick sighed tiredly, “when the Tournament was created, champions were generally nominated by their peers rather than entering themselves. The stipulation that one needed to enter their own name was added sometime later to prevent unwilling champions. This was after a champion chose to lose her magic rather than compete. Unfortunately, it seems that the ability to enter someone else’s name was never rectified. The Goblet was merely modified to only accept names written in the hand of the person named. If there have been unwilling champions since the stipulation was made, I’ve not read about it. Until now, of course.”

Harry curled his arms around his chest despondently, his depression growing worse when he automatically reached for Sassik only to find his neck bare. She was almost always with him during the day now. In summer, she’d had more freedom to roam and at night she slept on her own heated pillow next to him, but during the day at Hogwarts she was always curled around his neck as it provided safety for both of them.

Harry felt horribly exposed without her, especially knowing what he was about to walk into, though he was glad to know that she, at least, would be safe.

“Here we are,” Flitwick announced as they stopped before the tent. “Good luck, Mr. Potter,” he added, reaching up to clap Harry lightly on the shoulder before he turned and walked away.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed after him. “I’ll need it.”

Upon stepping into the tent, he found the other champions already present. He cautiously returned Krum’s curt nod, then ignored Delacour as she seemed intent on ignoring him. He moved to sit in a chair near the wall of the tent. He stayed there precisely three seconds before his nerves got the better of him and he stood once more, starting a slow pace across his corner of the tent, noting as he did that Krum was pacing the length of the tent as though he could increase his odds of winning through the sheer force of his steps. Delacour was doing a kind of slow pace, stop and stare into space, then slow pace the other way and stare at the ground before starting all over again.

Harry tried to keep his pacing slow and measured, using the rhythm of his steps to sort of half-meditate and calm his racing mind. He ran through all of the spells he’d prepared to use today in his mind, reaching out to just touch his magic as he reminded himself of how they felt to cast. Dragons were incredibly resistant to magic cast directly on them. They also had a sub-human intelligence (though not by too much). Their breath was hot enough to kill a grown man in seconds if he took a blast full on without protection of some kind. And, of course, that was ignoring that their sheer size, strength, and natural weapons - giant claws, massive teeth, and generally spiked tail - were generally more than enough to kill even an experienced wizard.

Harry took a deep, slow breath and tried to focus his mind once more. He was just reaching a state of calm when Bagman barged into the tent all noise and excitement.

“All right! Everyone excited?” he asked, then went on without waiting for an answer, which was just as well as it was clear “excited” wasn’t the right word to describe any of them. “When the audience has assembled, I’m going to be offering each of you this bag,” he held up a small purple sack and shook it at them, “from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different, er, varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too… ah, yes… your task is to collected the golden egg!”

Krum and Delacour looked just as eager as Harry at this news, which was, of course, not at all. An egg. So, presumably, they weren’t meant to defeat the dragon, but just to… bypass it, so to speak. To get an egg…

Oh, bugger! An egg. There was only one reason Harry could imagine that they’d be getting a golden egg. These dragons had to be nesting mothers.

Bloody hell.

Having memorized Luna’s dragon book entirely, he knew all about nesting mother dragons and how incredibly dangerous they were. He thought he might have preferred duking it out with an average dragon to trying to steal an egg from it’s mother. Or, he supposed the golden egg wouldn’t really be hers, but he doubted he’d be able to explain that to her.

He was drawn from his spiraling thoughts when a great cacophony of noise paraded by all around the tent. The audience arriving, he supposed. _They_ all sounded terribly excited, at least.

“Ladies first,” Bagman said suddenly and Harry turned with the others to see Bagman now holding the purple bag aloft in front of him, looking expectantly at Delacour.

She swallowed rather hard, then stepped forward with her chin held high and reached into the bag without hesitation.

A moment later, she withdrew a tiny model of a dragon. A Welsh Green, Harry noted. The model was really something. It was small enough to rest on Delacour’s open hand, but looked exactly like a real dragon. It even moved and acted a bit like a dragon, albeit a tame one as it just settled down in place without even trying to maim her hand.

Harry found himself idly wondering how long the enchantment would last on that thing. Was it just made to last a few minutes or hours? Or would it last months or years? And what was it made of, come to that? Magic could make almost anything to move, but to move so smoothly, he doubted it was stone or wood.

Krum went next, retrieving a scarlet Chinese Fireball from the bag.

Neither of them seemed any more surprised than him that they were facing dragons, Harry noted. He rather doubted they had a prescient friend giving them hints, which strongly suggested their headmaster and headmistress had done the deed.

Harry couldn’t help but compare that to the fact that no one on the Hogwarts’ faculty had given him so much as a hint. He wondered if that meant that they weren’t as invested in winning the tournament, just didn’t care that much about him, or if they were honestly that pathetically noble.

He could see the latter being the case with the headmaster, he supposed. The man had been a Gryffindor, after all. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that even Flitwick hadn’t given him the smallest hint. He’d thought the man liked him at least a little.

He quickly pushed the thoughts from his mind, reminded himself that Flitwick didn’t matter any more than anyone else, and stepped forward to grab out the last model in the bag.

The Hungarian Horntail. Wonderful. It was the largest of the three dragon breeds, and it had a great bloody flail for a tail. The Fireball was faster and had a more explosive breath weapon, he consoled himself. The Welsh Green was probably the least dangerous, but that wasn’t saying much. They were all dragons, after all. He absently noted that it felt like some kind of clay.

“Well, there you are!” Bagman cheerfully announced. “You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see?”

Harry looked at the number attached to his model dragon. He was third. Delacour would be first and Krum second.

He didn’t know whether to be glad he’d have more time to plot his strategy now that he knew he was going after an egg and the exact type of dragon he was facing, or devastated that he’d have the longest to dwell on what was coming. He supposed he’d be stupid to ignore the tactical benefit in favor of dwelling on his nerves, so he sternly told himself to shut up and like it.

“Now, I’m going to have to leave you in a moment because I’m commentating,” Bagman went on. “Miss Delacour, you’re first. Just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right. Now… Harry… could I have a quick word? Outside?”

Harry opened his mouth, not at all sure what he was going to respond, but the man was already striding out and Harry supposed he’d no choice but to follow. He did so cautiously, unsure what to expect.

“Feeling all right, Harry? Anything I can get you?” the man immediately inquired.

Harry blinked at him in incomprehension. The man asked him to come outside alone so that he could ask after his nerves? Was it because he was the youngest? Because he wasn’t voluntarily entered? Did they want to make sure that Harry wasn’t going to do something embarrassing like get burnt to a crisp in two seconds flat? “I’m great,” Harry responded flatly after a moment’s hesitation. He thought it should be pretty obvious how he was bloody well feeling.

“Got a plan?” Bagman then inquired, his voice lowering conspiratorially.

Harry wondered what the man would do if he said no. Or that he planned to charge it head on and hope for the best.

“Because I don’t mind sharing a few pointers if you’d like them, you know,” Bagman went on before Harry could decide how to answer. “I mean, you’re the underdog here, Harry. Anything I can do to help.”

And Harry started to get it. This was nothing to do with worrying about him getting killed. The man seemed entirely too excited that Harry was such an underdog. Either he was glad for the general excitement it could provide the crowd or the man had placed a bet on his long odds.

Harry was glad he did have a plan or he’d have been obliged to at least listen to what advice this swine had to offer. As it was, he just pasted on the most obviously false smile he could manage and replied, “I’ve got it all worked out, thanks.”

“Are you sure, Harry?” Bagman cajoled. “No one would _know_.” He even threw in a wink for good measure.

Harry felt his lip curling in repugnance and was relieved when a whistle blew and the man gasped out, “Good Lord, I’ve got to go!” and sprinted toward the arena.

By the time Harry got back inside, Delacour was gone. A moment later, the crowd roared, so Harry suspected she’d entered the arena and the audience was baying for blood. Hers or the dragon’s, he doubted they cared.

Harry went back to his meditative pacing on his side of the tent while Krum quickly resumed his brutal stride back and forth across the other. Harry used his steps and his occlumency to keep him calm while Bagman’s magically projected voice called out in response to Delacour’s performance.

“Oh, I’m not sure that was wise!”

“Oh… nearly! Careful now… Good Lord, I thought she’d had it then!”

It was ten minutes before Harry heard the crowd erupt into applause and he spent a moment morbidly wondering if they were cheering her getting the egg or the dragon eating her. Bagman’s commentating soon told them that Delacour had succeeded and Harry felt a tiny bit relieved at the proof that it was, in fact, not impossible.

Krum went out next, his stride as angry and determined as ever as he marched his way out to face his dragon.

Harry spent a moment just looking around the empty tent, then decided to use the full space since he had it and began pacing slow circles around the area. He did everything that he could to remain calm and keep his mind turning over practicalities rather than grim possibilities, but he was only marginally successful. Were these his final moments, right now? Would he die in front of a crowd of screaming Idiots? Had he faced everything he had in his life only to have it all end now?

In between these thoughts, he managed to note that Bagman was very excited about Krum’s performance and that his own turn was coming quite quickly. He did run through what he knew about the Hungarian Horntail again and try to revise his strategy, but his brain didn’t seem to be working at peak efficiency at the moment.

Bloody awful time to discover that he folded under pressure.

And then the whistle blew and Harry hesitated. He could just not go out there. He could stay here and live.

Even as the thought ran through his head, Harry felt a horrible twisting feeling within his very magic. It felt like he’d imagine having his soul ripped in half might feel. He surged into motion, all but running for the arena. That had been the worst thing he’d felt in his entire life and that was _saying something_.

Maybe dying would be better than having that feeling ever again. Definitely better than it getting _worse_.

He emerged into the arena and the roaring noise around him rose sharply. He couldn’t tell if they were cheering him on or jeering him and he had no focus to spare for the question.

None of them mattered anyway.

His eyes fell on the dragon at the other end of the enclosure. She was bloody huge. Her large golden eyes were locked on him as she crouched protectively over her eggs.

Harry’s nerves kind of bled into the background as he locked eyes with the dragon. Despite the fact this dragon may very well kill him, in that moment, Harry could only feel pity for her. Dragons were not as intelligent as humans, but they weren’t all that much dumber. They were intelligent and powerful creatures, and what Harry was looking at was a mother protecting her young. This was a mother that had been snatched from her home, dropped here in the middle of all these screaming people, and desperate to protect her eggs.

Harry had no idea why this moment of understanding and pity for the beast he’d spent the last month fearing made the whole thing easier to bear, but it did. He spent a moment to think of dragon heartstring and dragon hide and wonder if the poor beasts were farmed like cattle. The book he’d read had talked about the dragons and their natural habitats. There hadn’t been anything about captive dragons.

Then he raised his wand and set to surviving this encounter.

The first spell he cast was a modified fire protection spell. The best spell he’d been able to find had still been terribly underpowered to actually provide adequate protection against a dragon, so Harry had altered the spell just a bit with his still rudimentary knowledge of arithmancy. The modification allowed him to channel a lot more of his magic into it without overpowering the spell and making it useless. Honestly, his increased understanding of magic on a personal level had been more vital to altering the spell successfully than the arithmancy, though that had also come into it.

This spell, hopefully, wouldn’t actually be needed.

The second spell he cast was an illusion spell. Dragons were relatively weak against mind magics. Passive ones, at least. Attacking them with Legilimency would likely be suicidal, Imperius hit or miss, but illusions were easily accepted by their minds.

At least, that’s what Harry’s research assured him. He was about to find out if it was true or not.

He felt a rush of satisfaction as his spell took affect and the dragon slowly turned her head to follow the illusion he’d placed. He could see it and she could but no one else. It looked like him and had begun to slowly pace to the left, staying near the outside of the arena. The illusion also removed the real him from her perception.

Hopefully.

He’d designed this spell personally, using an existing version as a template. He’d had to push this one a bit more. That one hadn’t imparted or obscured scent, which would be fine for the average human but make it impossible to fool a dragon. The original also hadn’t had anything like the distance he’d needed to make this work. He had to get a long way from the illusion of himself for it to work.

This wasn’t something he’d have been able to do before he started studying occlumency. The concentration needed to keep the illusion going while doing something physically demanding and emotionally vexing was significant. He was using his occlumency to split his focus in order to make it possible.

As the illusion of him headed left, he made his way directly toward the dragon, going only slightly to the right of her to avoid getting accidentally stepped on if she reacted suddenly to his illusion’s approach.

Harry kept his steps slow and even, trying to ignore the rising volume of the crowd and whatever Bagman was saying at his straight on approach. He maintained his concentration carefully. The dragon was turning further and further as she kept her eyes on his illusion, which was slowly but surely drawing closer to her. Harry walked calmly - well, sort of calmly - by her as she took half a step forward to better guard her clutch against his apparent approach.

He had to quickly duck as she swished her tail, and he felt the illusion waver along with his concentration. He froze in his crouch, struggling to maintain the spell. The moment felt endless but could not have actually been long before he regained full control. With a shuddering breath, he quickly closed the little remaining distance and scooped up the golden egg, careful not to damage any of the others.

With it tucked against his chest, the crowd exploded into noise and he let himself jog slowly back across the arena, careful to maintain his concentration all the way as he had his illusion slowly retreat once more so that the dragon could return to her eggs and relax a little.

He finally started paying attention to what was happening outside the arena as the dragon tamers - a stupid job title if he ever heard one as taming dragons was impossible - rushed in to subdue the creature once more, probably to crate her back up for transport to wherever it was she lived. The crowd was on it’s feet, cheering him like they hadn’t bloody spent the last month treating him like dirt. They were going crazy, almost drowning out Bagman saying that the judges needed to confer with the champion before giving out their scores.

Harry noticed that the judges were indeed making their way down from the stands and toward him, Headmaster Dumbledore in the lead, his bright blue eyes twinkling brightly. The other two headmasters followed behind him, then Crouch and finally Bagman brought up the rear.

“That was very impressive work, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore congratulated as soon as they reached him. “Unfortunately, none of us was entirely certain that we recognized the spells you used, though I believe the first was some form of fire protection and the second was an illusion. If you could explain exactly what you used, we will be able to determine the score you deserve.”

So Harry did his best to explain to them how he’d modified the fire protection spell for more power, though he was glad he’d not needed to test it’s efficacy. Then he explained how he’d altered the illusion spell.

By the time he was finished, Dumbledore’s bushy brows had risen, Karkaroff looked surly, Madam Maxime looked like she’d sucked on something sour, Crouch looked contemplative, and Bagman looked elated.

“Well, then. Very well done, Harry. The judges will take a moment to confer and then your scores will be announced.”

The judges made their way back into the stands and Harry heaved a deep breath and made his way over to the side of the arena near where the dragon tamers had been. They’d all gone off now with the dragon. It was somewhat quieter in this area and there were fewer people. He’d only just settled in to lean against the waist-height wall when a voice sounded behind him.

“That was a very impressive showing, Mr. Potter.” The voice was smooth and confident, cultured and male.

Harry turned warily, half expecting to see a reporter. Instead, he was treated to the sight of a young man perhaps recently graduated from Hogwarts. He had very dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes. He was tallish and lean. Harry had a moment to think that if the man were a veela, Harry’d have been making an utter fool of himself.

He felt his face heat in response to that thought and silently cursed himself.

If the man noticed, he gave no indication, merely smiling politely and extending one hand over the fence. “My name is Alaric Avery. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yeah. Hi,” Harry said with an awkward swallow, ignoring his typical feelings toward touching strangers to place his palm against the one offered to him. The skin was soft and cool and dry and it made Harry horrifically aware of just how sweaty and dirty his hand was.

Again, the man didn’t seem to notice, just gripping his hand firmly and giving it a shake, then holding on slightly longer than Harry expected before releasing him. He didn’t, somewhat surprisingly, wipe his hand on his trousers after.

Harry did, now self-conscious about how sweaty his entire body was. He hadn’t even done anything that strenuous. This was all adrenaline and terror and bloody relief.

“You were very good,” the man, Alaric, reiterated with a nod toward the arena behind Harry. “What were the spells that you used?”

Harry felt his blush return with a vengeance at the compliment and he found himself looking down at the golden egg still clutched in the crook of his arm. “Oh… just a fire protection and an illusion,” he shrugged.

“Not any version of either spell that I’ve ever seen,” the man countered.

Harry looked up at him in surprise, though whether he was surprised that the man had commented or that he’d known enough about fire protection and illusion spells to know they were unusual. With the headmasters and stuff that wasn’t so surprising, but this bloke didn’t look that old.

A smirk curled at the man’s really quite nicely shaped lips. “It’s a hobby of mine. Spellcrafting. Did you alter those spells yourself?”

Harry swallowed uncomfortably and wondered if his face would ever return to normal color. “Er, yeah. Yes.” Merlin, why did he sound like an Idiot? “Neither one was really meant for use against a dragon, so I had to change them a little.” There, an intelligible sentence. Thank God.

“And you’re a fourth year. That’s really very impressive.”

“Er… thanks.” And back to blushing and staring at his feet. Harry was ready to put on his invisibility cloak and never take it off again.

The noise around the arena rose again and Harry looked up to see that the judges were standing to deliver his scores.

“Well, it was very nice to meet you. I hope we get the chance to talk again,” Alaric said warmly, reaching out to place one of his cool hands briefly against Harry’s arm before he turned and made his way back toward the stands.

Harry swallowed convulsively as he watched him go for a moment before remembering that he was about to get his scores. He quickly shook himself and made his way back toward the judges in time to see the first score go up.

Madam Maxime gave him a nine of ten, which was a good start. Next was Crouch, who gave him a ten. Wow. Dumbledore added another ten, followed by the same from Bagman. Merlin. Last was Karkaroff, who hesitated a moment before giving a five, which earned him sudden and profound _booing_ from the crowd, at which he just sneered. Honestly, the man was more hateful than Snape.

Still, even with Karkaroff’s blatantly unfair score, that was a total of 44 of 50. With a flip of Dumbledore’s wand, Harry’s scores were added to the leader board and Harry’s name swiftly rose from the bottom to the top, four points above Krum and eight above Delacour.

Before Harry could escape, he was again grouped with the other champions so that Bagman could give them some parting words. The second task would take place at half nine on February 24th. They had until then to figure out the clue inside the golden egg. It would tell them what they needed to prepare for the next task.

Great, just what he needed. More pressure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually go for more thrilling action scenes, but nothing I thought up seemed to work at all with this Harry, so I gave up and did it his way.


	8. Year Four - Part 3

Harry huffed a small, frustrated sigh as he looked at the headline in the Daily Prophet. He hated the bloody paper, but it was better to know why people were staring and whispering this time. It irked him a little that he was giving money to the crooks writing and publishing these articles.

There was a picture of him and Luna on the front during one of their picnics. He had no idea how someone had gotten such a picture, though he supposed there were students taking them and selling them to the paper. The headline read, “Young Heartthrob Harry Potter and His Lady of the Hour?”

His lips tightened into a thin line as he scanned through the article. The paper seemed convinced that Luna was just a phase he’d get over as he matured and explored the deeper waters of the dating pool. Of course, it was ridiculous as he was not remotely interested in dating Luna, but if he _was _dating her, she’d be anything but disposable.

Unfortunately, his research into libel laws had informed him that there was nothing he could do about this gross breach of journalistic integrity. The articles were all carefully worded as speculation rather than fact. Further, it wasn’t hurting his reputation in any tangible way. If his schooling or career prospects were hurt by speculations the paper had made, he’d have a case. As long as it was just gossip used to make his life miserable, there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. He could only assume that people like Lucius Malfoy, who he only really knew about because Jr. spent so much time talking about his greatness, either invested money in the paper to avoid this nonsense or they quietly ruined the lives of the entire families of anyone stupid enough to write it until people stopped.

Harry put his head down and ate with the determination of someone who knew the value of food. He didn’t really taste it, merely focusing on getting it down as efficiently as possible, then he swiftly left the Great Hall, not even waiting for Luna. She’d finish up in her own time, he knew, and they’d meet up for lunch as planned. Just because they were each other’s only friend didn’t mean that they were never parted in their leisure time.

Harry absently stroked Sassik in her place around his neck and made his way to an abandoned classroom that he knew wasn’t too far from his first class. He had a bit of time due to his hasty departure from breakfast and he intended to use it to continue his exploration of magic. He was presently trying to classify magic in a way that made more sense of the magic itself. The disciplines of transfigurations, charms, and defense worked fine for school, but it didn’t make all that much sense to how magic felt and operated.

On the surface, it seemed that transfigurations changed things and charms changed what they could do while defense was how you protected yourself from danger. The problem was that there were charms that changed things in order to make them do something different or react differently to their surroundings. And there were transfigurations that weren’t charms but neither seemed to fit with the more basic, true transfigurations. And defense was really a broad term that encompassed many kinds of magic including actual dark magic, which Harry found ironic given the proper name of the class. It had frustrated Harry immensely when he’d begun to realize the disparity.

Of course, it made sense if he applied the same logic as he’d used to reason out dark magic versus “Dark Magic”. One was what magic was and the other was what people arbitrarily termed something that they didn’t understand based on outward characteristics.

Harry had taken to studying magical theory in hopes of making sense of it all, only to find that every book he could locate on magical theory was downright confusing or inherently wrong to everything his senses could tell him. Now Harry hadn’t ruled out the possibility that he was wrong in his observations. He was fourteen and had only just begun to really study magic and these books were written by honest to God masters in their fields.

The problem was that if he was wrong, nothing he read could explain why or how.

So he kept finding new books to read in between making his own observations.

Putting the exact “feel” of a spell into words wasn’t the easiest thing to do, and grouping spells by the feel was also a little complicated as no two spells felt exactly the same. So he was trying to put them into families. Similar but different. Like scientists did with plants and animals and stuff. He didn’t remember all that much about it from muggle school as he’d never bothered to pay much attention to things that seemed to matter so little at the time, but he did remember the basic idea of it. A big family for similar things, then smaller categories within the family for things even more closely related.

As he was having a hard time making sense of the categories as he was learning them in school — there seemed too many things that just didn’t fit into any category Hogwarts had introduced him to — Harry was currently trying to understand similarities between spells based on the old elemental categories of earth, air, fire, and water. Not all magic fit into these categories, of course. In fact, a great deal of it had nothing to do with the elements, but Harry needed to start somewhere. The elements were all physical in their way, yet distinct. A logical place to start looking for similarities. So far, he’d learned that all fire magic he’d been able to cast definitely had a very similar magical feel. He’d learned seventeen distinct fire spells in addition to _incendio_ in order to test them. There were some of the bigger, badder kinds that he hadn’t been able to test. Fiendfyre, for example, was both too dangerous and too illegal for him to cast it at Hogwarts in an experiment without any skilled backup. Then there was the spell he’d found in one of the books he’d bought from the secondhand bookstore Luna liked. It burned someone from the inside out on what he thought was a cellular level. Not only was that certainly considered Dark and illegal, but he wasn’t really interested in testing it on someone for his research. As far as he could tell, it was acutely fatal.

Barring the Dursleys showing up, he didn’t think he was interested in actually casting that spell on anyone.

Today, he was working with water spells. There were a lot of these, to his surprise. You’d think there wouldn’t need to be so many, but he supposed he’d have thought that about the fire ones, too.

There were spells to create a small bit of drinking water — each distinct one seemed to be meant to emulate water from a different source — a well, a spring, the rain, a lake, a swamp... He didn’t know why anyone would want to drink from a swamp, but he supposed creatures may have different preferences. Then there were spells that created a larger amount of water, possibly for filling a tub or similar. There were spells to create water at force, which could be used offensively or for cleaning purposes. There were spells to conjure water in mass rather than making a stream of it and waiting for it to fill whatever was desired. There were variations to make cold water, warm water, or hot water in case one didn’t wish to cast warming or cooling charms afterward, apparently.

And those were just the water conjuration charms. That wasn’t at all factoring in spells to make water behave as one wished or take the shapes that one wished or contain a certain amount of oxygen or be extra dense so one could walk upon it — that one was cool and he’d made a point to learn it because the Dursleys believed in Jesus at least one day a year when they bothered to attend mass and he’d learned that He could walk on water. He’d found that unbelievably cool at the time, probably in large part because it went completely against all the Dursleys wanted to believe was “normal”.

He’d been casting for about fifteen minutes, pausing every few casts to make observations in his journal, when the bells began to chime a warning that class would begin soon.

With a sigh of regret, he cast drying charms around the room and finite’d the pots and tubs he’d transfigured to put the water in. When they’d all returned to scraps of parchment, he gathered them up and left the room.

Hogwarts had gotten him away from the Dursleys, it had allowed him to meet Luna, and it gave him somewhere to live ten months out of the year. It had also taught him some interesting things, but most of the time, he felt like the classes were just an annoying fee he had to pay to get all the rest. They were tedious and boring and it was becoming increasingly rare that he learned anything in them that he hadn’t already figured out on his own. Herbology still had quite a bit to teach him as he didn’t have much exposure to magical plants outside of it, though he wished the lessons would move quite a bit faster. Potions wasn’t so much teaching him new things as reaffirming what he’d learned and giving him a chance to test them out in a controlled setting. While he could easily practice most magic by himself, potions was a little trickier and he was still content with the lessons to practice new techniques, even if the potions he was learning were always very easy.

Charms was his first class today and though he kind of liked his Head of House — a little — the lessons were mind-numbing. At least McGonagall moved through her lessons fairly quickly. Most of the time they had a lesson or two to perfect a spell and if they didn’t have it, she expected them to study outside of class. In charms, they often spent a whole week on each spell, which was incredibly frustrating when Harry almost always got it on the first day if he didn’t already know it.

Granted, it hadn’t been quite so easy in the beginning. He knew he was doing this to himself by reading ahead so much and his wandless magic was making the casting much easier as he came to understand what really went into a spell, but he wasn’t about to spend all of his free time sitting around doing nothing just so he could keep pace with the very dimmest of his classmates.

The day dragged on as usual and Harry slogged his way through the tedium and the stares and whispers. The students had lightened up a lot on the animosity since the first task. Apparently, the fact that he was in the lead had made the majority of people stop acting like he’d given away any possibility of a Hogwarts’ victory by being chosen. Though there were still some people who seemed to hate him on principle, most of them were treating him more as they had in his first year. Like he was some fascinating celebrity.

Bloody pillocks seemed to think he wouldn’t hold a grudge for the way they’d treated him over the last month.

One thing that came to Harry’s attention shortly after the first task was the necessity to get himself a supply of medicinal potions ASAP. After besting a bloody dragon and coming out without a scratch, he’d managed to roll his ankle on the steps outside his bedroom. The resulting sprain had hurt like hell and lasted a whole day. He could have gone to the infirmary but that was not too far above returning to the Dursleys on his list of favorite things to do. One, if she cast a halfway decent diagnostic charm, she might learn things about him that he didn’t ever want anyone knowing. Two, she’d probably expect him to take potions from her, just trusting that they were safe because she worked for the school.

Neither of those things was acceptable to him, so he’d done his best to hide his limp and gone about his day, but it had got him thinking of how nice it would have been to have a supply of potions available. It was incredible how easy it was to brew some basic healing potions, pain relievers and such. And also, those meal substitute potions he’d wanted in his first year but hadn’t been able to brew. He knew enough to brew those now.

He’d started to wonder why he hadn’t thought of this sooner. Instead of just stashing food, he could have been stashing potions for a rainy day. After all, while the basic healing potions were simple to make, not having them on hand could be deadly. A blood replenisher, for example. That one could be important. He should have had one in case that bloody great dragon had taken a chunk out of him. He could have even taken one in advance. Those things worked for hours after they were taken to vastly increase the speed at which blood could replenish itself, but had no side effects if they weren’t needed. At least not if they weren’t taken en mass. It was possible to overdose on them, but that was generally only a concern for someone with a severed artery.

He’d been remiss in his preparations for a rainy day, something he’d chastised himself for after he’d run away from the Dursleys. And it was good that he always carried an extra wand now and some food, but he could be doing so much more to prepare himself for the worst.

So, naturally, he’d immediately ordered himself a potions cabinet complete with auto-shrinking and strong preservation charms - it had been spendy, but not more than his Firebolt and that had been mostly for fun — and had started devoting his time between dinner and curfew to just this pursuit. A couple of the potions he wanted had longer brewing times, but he was able to work out their schedules around his lessons and sleeping.

He’d commandeered for this purpose, an abandoned room in the dungeons because it was the only place in the castle without portraits. The paintings may be able to report, if asked, that he spent a lot of time down there, but not exactly where he was going or what he was doing, which suited him. He was relatively sure that he wasn’t supposed to be brewing potions without supervision.

The downside of brewing in the dungeons was that the potions master lived and worked down there and Harry suspected that he could literally smell an illicit potion brewing from some distance. The man definitely couldn’t be described as dim or unobservant. Especially where Harry was concerned. The man constantly watched him like he thought he may be plotting the overthrow of the school or some such, though Harry suspected that it had more to do with his celebrity status than any real perceived threat. In general, Harry would even say that the man had come to like him a little bit. He’d been rather cruel to Harry when he’d first started Hogwarts, always calling him out for difficult answers and sneering at him, but over the years, Snape had come to treat him more neutrally than he did most students, which was a sign of affection as far as Harry could tell. He still accepted nothing less than excellence in his class, but Harry consistently provided that, which is why he thought the man kind of liked him.

Harry met Luna in their secluded dungeon classroom as usual. There were two long brew potions simmering away. One would need to be tended soon, the other half an hour before curfew, then both would be good until tomorrow. He was making large batches as everything he’d decided to brew had a long shelf-life. Some potions were ruined by preservation charms, but he wasn’t making anything that sensitive. There’d be no point in throwing out and replacing his emergency potions store every week or even every month. What he was making would last at least a year.

Luna was already there working on one of her potions. They hadn’t really talked about their respective potions beyond a bit of spit-balling in the beginning about the best sorts to brew. Luna was making some healing potions for herself as well, as she’d agreed that it was a good idea to have them on hand, but he knew that she had some others in mind. Knowing her, they were either something someone didn’t yet know they would need or they were like a repellent for wrackspurts.

He wouldn’t be surprised if she was literally making such a repellent. She’d been noting lately that he was accumulating some of the troublesome, possibly-imaginary creatures.

He nodded to her as he entered and she gave him a vague smile in return. Harry made certain that the door was closed behind him and reinforced the ward on the room, which was filtering all air in and out. It was actually a pretty common potioneering ward meant to maintain strict brewing conditions of air purity and humidity while preventing any fumes from leaving the room and contaminating the surrounding area. Babies and pregnant people had to stay away from such fumes, as did those with certain ailments, like wizarding flu, and some potions produced fumes that were just plain dangerous, so if one had a potions lab in their home, this spell was necessary to protect any other residents.

Harry was using it, of course, to ensure that no one followed their nose back to his illicit lab. This room was pretty far off the beaten trail in the dungeons, far from the active potions labs, Snape’s office, and the common rooms. Harry had no idea where Snape kept his quarters except that they were in the dungeons, so he could only hope that he hadn’t set up shop on the man’s doorstep.

Harry spent the first couple of hours brewing headache and general pain potions. He’d brewed the blood replenisher and basic healing ones first thing in case he ended up needing them sooner than later, but he did get headaches fairly often with his study of occlumency — the headaches wouldn’t persist as he got better, but were a side effect of expanding his mind this way — so having some headache draught on hand would be a relief. The general pain potions he hoped not to need much, but one could never tell.

Once he’d finished up his potions for the day — yes, he had a schedule to keep him on track — he checked on the bruise salve and scar remover that he had brewing, adjusted the flame height on the bruise salve, which he’d already tended tonight, then settled down in a corner of the room to work on his occlumency while he waited to tend the scar remover before leaving for the night.

Luna was softly humming one of the many tunes Harry did not know, but he tuned that out easily enough as he lit a small flame in each palm and settled down comfortably, letting his eyes slip closed.

About the time Harry felt himself reach a state of complete mental serenity, he became aware of something out of place. There was a magic about the room that had not been there the last time he’d done this. Cautiously, Harry let his magic out a little more, knowing that the flames in his palms would be growing, but he wasn’t worried. There wasn’t anything combustible in their way and they couldn’t harm their caster unless he let them spark some fuel and grow beyond his magic’s power.

He recognized the magic almost immediately and felt himself relax a bit. He knew this magic very well for it completely saturated the potions classroom with protection warding to minimize any damage from potions accidents. There were some protective wards here that had not been before. The room had been as magically inert as Hogwarts ever got when he and Luna had first moved in.

Harry spent a long time studying the magic and trying to make sense of what all it was doing. He didn’t know all the spells, so he couldn’t say what they were, but he was able to figure out what the magic was doing. There were layers of protection spells all centered on the dangers of potion brewing. There was also something else woven in there that he nearly missed amidst the rest.

It was an alert ward meant to recognize injury or severe distress.

Harry marveled over that for a long time.

Professor Snape had found their laboratory and rather than dismantling it or lying in wait to ambush them with lost points and detentions, the man had warded it to keep them safe and alert him if they were hurt, then gone about evidently pretending they weren’t doing it.

Why?

Harry’s ruminations were interrupted when his timer alerted him that he needed to tend the scar removal potion and Harry turned his concentration to that for a time.

When he returned to his dorm that night, however, he couldn’t help but think on it some more. He could only conclude that Snape did, in fact, like him. And that he’d probably examined the long brew potions they had going and decided to let them carry on with it.

Huh. If you’d asked him in his first year if he thought Snape was a decent human being, his answer would have fallen strongly into the negative.

He was starting to think he was wrong. Snape was a good person deep down. He just enjoyed doing a remarkable impression of a bastard. He supposed he couldn’t really blame the man. Everyone seemed to go out of their way to avoid him due to his personality. That seemed like a worthy goal to Harry.

As November moved into December, Harry received a note from Flitwick as he was leaving Charms. It instructed him simply to please meet Flitwick in the man’s office that evening at six, which would put it shortly after supper, if he ate as soon as dinner started, which he always did in order to avoid as much of the crowd as possible. Breakfast was only served for an hour and a half, lunch for an hour, but dinner was served from five-thirty until seven-thirty, and a lot of students seemed keen to go a bit later.

Harry read the note after he’d left the room and spent the rest of the day wondering what the man could want. They’d not had much one-on-one interaction before. Just the time leading up to the first task and that time he found Sassik and they’d discussed his ability to talk to her. He wondered if his professor was finally looking to give him a hint about the tournament. Harry hadn’t figured out how to make sense of his egg yet. The thing screamed when he opened it and nothing else had made any sense of it. He was still examining the magic of it to try to figure it out that way, but it was complex magic and he was really still a novice at it. He figured if he hadn’t got a clue by the winter hols, he’d start to get more frantic. Part of him hoped that Luna would have a hint to help him, but he wasn’t relying on it. They didn’t really talk about her foresight, but he knew that she didn’t have a lot of control and that what she did see and feel was very vague.

When the time came, Harry knocked on his professor’s office door and was swiftly invited in.

“Mr. Potter,” Flitwick greeted warmly, at least reassuring Harry that he probably wasn’t in trouble for anything. “Have a seat, have a seat.”

Harry did as he was bid, sitting on the edge of the chair, his fingers automatically moving up to stroke the smooth scales around his neck, reminding himself that he wasn’t alone. He decided it would be best to wait for his professor to tell him why he was here.

After a moment of silence, Flitwick did just that. “I asked you here today, Mr. Potter, because I’m concerned about how you’re handling the stress of the tournament this year. Your marks are falling pretty steadily across all of your classes. You’ve even taken a slight dip in potions and that has always been your strongest class. Do you have any idea as to why that is?”

Harry took a breath and let it out, not quite a huff, and focused his eyes on his hands in his lap. “Yes, Professor,” he admitted quietly, “The tournament is making it difficult to give much time to writing essays.” Which was true enough, though he honestly could have found more time if he’d really wanted. Personally, he prioritized his private research and preparing his potions cache above writing essays on crap he mostly already knew or didn’t really care about. Of course, teachers basically dedicated their lives to making as many students as possible get good grades and graduate with high marks, so he knew better than to tell his professor outright that he just didn’t give a shit.

“I thought as much,” Flitwick sighed. “I understand, Mr. Potter, that it must be incredibly difficult for you, given your age relative to your competition and the fact that you did not even choose to compete, but as your professor and your Head of House, I do not want to see you sacrificing your education.”

Harry chose not to comment. They both knew what Flitwick wanted, but Harry wasn’t going to prioritize essays over learning things that could save his life in this forsaken tournament.

“To that end,” the professor continued after a moment of silence, “I have a bit of a proposition to make to you.”

Harry finally looked up, studying his professor warily through his fringe.

Flitwick seemed to notice that he had his attention for he smiled at him. “I don’t know if you’re aware, Mr. Potter, but I have won ten national dueling championships in my time, and quite a number of less prestigious ones. I would like to offer to pass on a bit of that knowledge to you in hopes that it will help you in the tournament. Nothing to do with the official dueling rules, of course. Just spells and casting techniques that you may find useful. In exchange for these lessons, I would like to see you devote a bit more time to researching and writing essays. If you’re amenable, we can have these lessons once a week, perhaps three hours each. So long as I see a bump in your grades, they will continue. If I do not see improvement, then the lessons will be replaced with supervised study time in which you can work on your essays.”

Harry blinked a few times quickly, not quite sure if he should believe that he’d really just been offered that. Personal magic lessons with a dueling champion…?

“What do you say, Mr. Potter?” Flitwick prompted after a moment’s silence.

“Yes, sir,” Harry managed, then cleared his throat and added, “I would appreciate that.”

“Excellent. Shall we say Saturday from six to nine?” Flitwick beamed.

“Yes, sir,” Harry nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

Harry left the office feeling both bewildered and buoyed by the unexpected support. Sure the professor was doing it to bribe him to bring up his grades and not really because he wanted to protect him, but the man was a teacher. Harry probably shouldn’t be surprised that his priorities were a bit odd where schoolwork was concerned.

Harry understood the purpose and importance of teaching the next generation. He really did. He just didn’t understand why they went about it in such a strange way. Why not start each lesson with an explanation of why what they were teaching was important to know? And if it wasn’t, then why teach it? And why bother with a class like History at all if one wasn’t going to teach it in such a way that anyone learned anything? From what Luna said, Binns had taught her father. If there were grown adults who knew how pointless his class was, why not do something about it?

With a sigh, he pushed the thoughts from his mind. Like most things, it seemed to come down to people being Stupid and doing things that made no sense because they were too stupid to do it better.

It was nearly enough to make him want to be the one to do something about it. If, you know, he didn’t hate people and attention and have so little actual care for whether or not the Stupid people went on being stupid.

It was shortly after that that it was announced there would be a Yule Ball in conjunction with the Tournament. Champions were required to attend and bring a date, which Harry thought was insult to injury with this whole tournament fiasco. First, they try to kill them, then they make them dress up and make a spectacle of themselves in front of everyone.

“You hear about the ball?” Harry asked Luna that evening as they worked on their potions. Harry had finished the ones he considered most important and was now working on some less basic potions, such as a magical revitalizer, which was technically illegal as it required blood to work. But it was his own blood and the potion would only work for him.

Luna hummed in the affirmative. “For fourth years and up.”

“Unless you’re invited by someone older,” he pointed out.

She looked at him thoughtfully.

Harry shrugged a little uncomfortably. “I have to have a date and I really can’t imagine going with anyone else.”

She smiled beatifically at him for that. “I’d love to go with you, Harry.”

He nodded, relieved that was over, and went back to his potion even though it didn’t really need his attention just then. He could grind the gurdy roots for later. It wouldn’t hurt them to sit for a while.

“Can you dance?” Luna asked a few minutes later and Harry jumped a bit in response. They didn’t talk all that much down here.

“Er... no,” he admitted.

“I can teach you,” Luna offered.

Harry heaved a very put-upon sigh, moving his hands to grip the edges of the table instead of punishing his ingredients. He really hated this. He hated everything about it. He just wanted to go back to blending into the background. He really did. He clenched his hands against the table until they ached, then forced himself to let go and released a slow, steady breath. “Thank you,” he said to Luna at last.

He couldn't even imagine what he’d have done this year without her to lean on.

*** * * * ***

“The most difficult aspect of dueling, Mr. Potter, is in training yourself to respond calmly and quickly when spells are flying at you,” Flitwick lectured for Harry’s first lesson. “When you are attacked, you have less than a second to process the attack, decide on a response, and begin to execute it. The more skilled your opponent, the less time you will have and the more complex the attack and needed response. Now, your natural reaction time will factor in, but the only way to truly become skilled in this is through practice.

“To that end, we will break it down into pieces and you will learn each before you put them together. To begin,” he barely twitched his wand and a small, egg-shaped rock glided gracefully from his desk into his hand. He tapped it once, then sent it to land just in front of Harry. “That is a shield stone, Mr. Potter. It will, when active, project a powerful one-way shield. I have activated it, so you will be safe from anything I send your way, fear not. What we will focus on today, is to get used to watching spells come at you. You’re going to try to identify them and tell me how you would respond. There’s no time limit for now. Once you get the hang of it, we’ll work on improving your speed.”

The three-hour lesson was perhaps the most fascinating three hours Harry had spent at Hogwarts. Flitwick was a well of knowledge about dueling and he was a very good teacher when he was pacing himself to Harry specifically and not trying to go slow enough for the idiots barely paying attention in his regular class. He was as liberal with praise as Lupin had ever been, but Harry was getting better at ignoring that and concentrating on what he was doing.

It was in their third lesson when the professor observed, “I’ve always suspected that you were smarter than your grades suggest, Mr. Potter, but I think I was still underestimating you.”

The relaxed posture Harry had been employing for the practice they’d been doing with dodging dissolved into nonexistence as he realized the professor was going to talk about something personal.

Flitwick looked at him with that open, warm smile he always seemed to wear. “Not to worry, Mr. Potter,” he smiled. “There’s no wrong answer here and you’re not going to get into trouble.”

Harry nodded shakily, not relaxing in the slightest.

“I have no doubt that you could be getting O’s consistently in at least most of your classes if you put in even a fraction of the effort you’ve demonstrated in our private lessons. Can you tell me why you haven’t?” he asked gently.

Harry clenched his wand in one balled fist and gently stroked Sassik with the other. “I guess I just don’t see the point in most of the lessons, Sir,” he said quietly, at a loss for how else to explain it.

“High marks, I take it, are not reason enough?” Flitwick posed.

Harry shrugged.

“What do you plan to do when you complete school, Mr. Potter?” Flitwick posed after a minute.

Harry glanced warily at the professor, but he appeared to be entirely relaxed in this conversation. He didn’t _seem _like he was trying to trap Harry into saying something he could use against him later, but it was hard to say. “I’m not sure, yet, Professor,” he said cautiously. “I thought I might make potions.” He’d also been considering, increasingly, writing books about magical theory. It was a subject that he loved to study and explore. He thought that, when he knew more, writing books about it would be good. They might help other people to understand better what magic really was instead of the strange notions taught at Hogwarts. He didn’t feel confident enough to mention that, though. It seemed far too lofty a dream to speak aloud just yet.

Flitwick nodded, not seeming at all surprised by that. “Do you think, Mr. Potter, that people might not be more willing to trust your skill if you have good marks to back you up?”

Harry frowned and gave it a moment of real thought before shaking his head, “I don’t think they’ll care if I got good marks in transfigurations or charms or history, sir. I do well in potions and pretty decent in herbology. Shouldn’t that be all that matters?”

“It will matter most,” Flitwick conceded, “but you’ve said yourself that you’re not entirely sure that is what you plan to do after Hogwarts. Wouldn’t it make more sense to leave your options open? So that if you do find something else that interests you, you’ll have the marks to do it?”

Harry shrugged again. He seriously doubted he’d really end up in any vocation that required high marks in most of his classes. He couldn’t imagine himself ever choosing to work in a field that required much interaction with anyone. If he ended up writing books, it might matter, but he thought by the time he was taking his NEWTs he’d make sure he was knowledgeable enough to do well on the tests. “I… just get so bored writing the essays,” he finally admitted when it seemed Flitwick was going to wait for a verbal reply.

“You do very well on most practicals,” Flitwick granted, “but without the essays, we as teachers cannot judge your level of knowledge on more than the simple execution of the spell. I’m sure you’re aware that there is a lot more involved in understanding a field of magic than just executing spells.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry nodded.

Flitwick was silent a moment, then took a deep breath. “Well, let’s talk about the essay you turned in yesterday,” he said at last. “I graded it Acceptable because you barely scratched the surface of the assigned topic. You clearly didn’t bother to even read the entire chapter…”

“I did!” Harry indignantly interrupted. When the professor looked at him in surprise, Harry shrunk in on himself. “Sir,” he added belatedly.

“If that’s true, Mr. Potter, why did you write almost nothing about what makes buoyancy charms unique from levitation charms?” Flitwick seemed genuinely baffled.

Harry swallowed and stared at the floor.

“It’s not a trick question,” Flitwick said after a long moment of silence. “I would really like to know why, if you read the material, did you not write about it?”

“It didn’t make sense,” Harry reluctantly admitted.

“You weren’t able to understand the explanation in the text?” Flitwick inquired.

Harry huffed an impatient sigh, “No, sir. I understood what it was saying, it just didn’t make sense. It said that the difference was in buoyancy charms affecting an object’s relative mass whereas levitation charms were merely lifted by magic itself, but it doesn’t make sense!” he was getting irritated now, just as he had when he’d read it initially at the beginning of the year.

“Explain to me what doesn’t make sense about it,” Flitwick suggested.

“Well, first off, buoyancy charms don’t change the mass of the object, like the book made it sound. They change how the world around the object _perceives _the mass of the object. A floating book isn’t lighter than it was before it was floating, but the air around the book simply acts as though it is. And to say that levitation works through magic makes about as much sense as to say that wind works through air. It doesn’t explain anything. Levitation works by thickening the air around the object so that the object can rest on it, which is why it becomes exponentially more difficult with heavier objects and buoyancy charms are generally more effective in that case.”

“That is… very advanced theory, Mr. Potter,” Flitwick said with a smile.

Harry blushed and focused on the wall above his professor’s head rather than go on looking at him.

“Where did you read about that?” the professor inquired.

Harry frowned then and shook his head. “Nowhere, professor.”

“Then how did you come to that conclusion?” the man pressed.

Harry actually looked at his teacher again but the man seemed entirely earnest. “It’s just… how it works,” he said uncomfortably. “It’s… er…”

“It’s what you’ve observed while casting the spells,” Flitwick said at last, his tone a little strange. Like he couldn’t believe such a simple answer was the right one.

Harry nodded.

A long moment of silence passed before Flitwick seemed to shake himself. When he spoke, his voice was more brisk. “Well, then, Mr. Potter. In the future, I would like you to write your essays just like that. If what you’ve read about it or even when I’ve taught in class doesn’t seem to make sense compared to how you understand the spells, then just write what does make sense to you, okay? If I’m not sure I understand, I’ll ask you to explain some time out of class, but I will not mark you down for sound answers.”

Harry relaxed a little. That sounded much better than fumbling through writing an essay based on what he thought the books were trying to convey even though they didn’t seem to make sense. “Yes, sir,” he agreed. “I can do that.”

Flitwick smiled his warm smile up at him. “Excellent. I look forward to reading your conclusions in the future, Mr. Potter.”

Harry left the Charms classroom that evening feeling a little bit optimistic. Despite everything making his life miserable right now, explaining magic to Professor Flitwick the way it made sense to Harry and not being scolded for it or having his thoughts dismissed had felt surprisingly good. Maybe he’d spend a little more time on his Charms essays in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another chapter! Finally, huh?
> 
> So Harry's finally getting some support from at least two of his teachers (even if Snape is trying to be sneaky about it), and Luna is awesome as always.
> 
> I am still working on the next chapter of Eggs, as well, for those who got attached to that one. I can't wait for the eggs to hatch!


	9. Chapter 9

The Yule Ball was held on Christmas day and the decorations seemed entirely Christmas themed. Despite being termed a “Yule” ball, it was clearly celebrating Christmas. The suits of armor had even been charmed to sing Christmas carols. Harry found it all somehow less than surprising. Ignoring pureblood traditions in favor of those from the muggle world seemed the way things generally went at Hogwarts.

Harry didn’t care all that much about Yule _or _Christmas, really. He just found it strange how much the wizarding world seemed to be pushing toward being more like the muggle world, even ignoring their own traditions to do so. In the muggle world, it seemed like culture mattered to most people, but here it was only a small group of the magical world that cared and they were mostly vilified.

After some thought on the matter, Harry decided that he didn’t care. He didn’t plan on being that big a part of the wizarding world once he was done with school, so it was nothing to do with him.

The ball was pretty much as horrifying as he could have imagined. The champions were paraded around to be gawked at. They entered the Great Hall last so that everyone else was sitting and staring. Then they had to be the first to start dancing, again with everyone staring at them.

The dance itself wasn’t too bad, at least. He and Luna had been practicing for weeks, just a half hour at a shot four or five days a week, but they weren’t required to do anything too complex. Luna had apparently learned growing up with some other kids from around where she lived. They managed to make it through without anyone getting their feet stepped on or tripping and falling.

The meal was painfully uncomfortable, but Harry’s usual method of avoiding eye contact and ignoring people was enough for his table-mates — the other champions and their dates — to carry on their conversations over and around him.

Luna just hummed along to the music and watched everything with wide, fascinated eyes. She loved environments, Harry knew. It’s why she liked Quidditch. Not because the mechanics of the game interested her, or even so much the final score. She just liked the general atmosphere of excitement and camaraderie and competition. Harry didn’t understand how she could enjoy being surrounded by people, but he wouldn’t try to encourage her in his own hermit attitude so long as she didn’t try to make him enjoy crowds.

As soon as the meal was finished and people began to move around, dance, and mingle, Harry sneaked out and back to Ravenclaw Tower. Luna chose to stay awhile, but Harry was well past his limit for crowds by that point. His entire body was trembling, his head felt stuffed full of wool, and his body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat by the time he crawled into his bed and pulled the curtains closed.

He swallowed down one of the calming droughts he’d brewed and passed out almost at once.

*** * * * ***

It was just a couple of days after the Yule Ball when Harry and Luna ventured outside again for a picnic. They’d mostly been avoiding having their meals outdoors since the heavy snowfall in the beginning of December, but Harry felt stifled in the school and needed the fresh air.

Luna, as ever, was willing to go along with his idea.

The snow was a bit annoying, but the cold wasn’t a problem. Harry had mastered wandless warming charms by this point. He’d learned that, while the concentration was the important aspect of wandless casting and gestures were unnecessary, they _were _quite useful. Using a different, specific gesture for each wandless spell he commonly used seemed to help him reach that specific concentration more quickly. It wasn’t that it helped the magic, it just helped his mind. Each gesture became linked to that spell in his mind, so making the gesture automatically brought his magic to where it needed to be. Like muscle memory.

A small swish of his fingers with the first three extended, like a W, was what he’d chosen for the warming spell.

They chose a spot under a tree where the snow was thin. A simple housekeeping spell swept the snow away and a more intense warming charm dried and warmed the ground.

With a cheerful smile, Luna spread out their blanket and settled down quite comfortably.

They ate in silence for a time before a distant splashing drew their attention to the lake. Someone was swimming there. It couldn’t be more than four or five degrees and someone was swimming. He knew the Durmstrang students came from somewhere colder than Scotland, but this was a little mental.

He watched for a few moments before muttering, “Is that Krum?”

“I think so,” Luna replied, her tone as unconcerned as ever.

“Why in Merlin’s name is he swimming in the Black Lake?” Harry couldn’t help but pose.

“Maybe he wanted to meet the merfolk.”

Harry threw her an amused look but paused when he got a look at her face. She’d gone rather pale and he didn’t think she was breathing.

“Luna…?” he ventured warily.

She didn’t seem to hear him.

Slowly, he waved a hand in front of her face, but she didn’t even twitch an eyelid.

He stared at her uncertainly. This had never happened before. Was she having a vision? They’d still never talked about any skill for prescience that he suspected she possessed. She’d never brought it up and it didn’t seem like it would be polite to bring it up first, so they just didn’t talk about it. That was fine. They didn’t talk about lots of stuff. That’s a big part of the reason their friendship worked so well.

Hesitantly, he reached toward her arm. His hand was a hair’s breadth away from touching her when she suddenly gasped in a breath, wide blue eyes blinking rapidly.

“Are you… okay?” he asked uncertainly as she started to focus on their surroundings again.

Her eyes focused on him at last, sharper than he ever remembered seeing them before. “I… don’t know,” she said after a long moment.

Silence settled between them thickly until he cautiously ventured, “Did you… see something?”

Thankfully, the question didn’t seem to upset her. “I don’t…” she shook her head. She swallowed hard, then quietly said, “Possibilities. I can’t… I don’t know what it means,” she almost whispered. “I never do until something happens. Something triggers it and then I know what it meant.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully, a little surprised that she’d said so much about it. It was strangely satisfying though. That she trusted him that much.

They finished their lunch in silence, watching Krum dive into the lake and stay under for obscene amounts of time before surfacing.

It was on the way out of the Great Hall after dinner that night that Luna suddenly stopped mid-stride. Harry turned to look at her, a little wary that he might find her in another vision, but her expression just looked startled.

“The merfolk language sounds like screeching out of water,” she said apropos of nothing.

Harry blinked at her a few times, but it didn’t take him too long to catch on. “The egg?”

“There are merfolk in the Black Lake,” Luna’s stream of consciousness continued.

“Right,” Harry agreed, unsure where she was going with that.

“Krum,” was all she had left to say.

And it hit him. The clue in the egg was likely in the merfolk language. Krum was going for swims in the Black Lake in late December. “Oh,” he nodded, already trying to figure out what spells he’d need to go diving in the Black Lake. A warming charm, obviously, and he’d need to breathe, and he’d need to see…

That evening, Harry closed himself into an empty classroom and conjured a large tub. He filled it with warm water and double-checked the locking spell on the door before disrobing and climbing into the tub. He left his underwear on he just wasn’t comfortable getting naked in here and a drying charm would handle them okay when he was done.

Though he hesitated a bit, a little afraid it would damage the egg, he dunked it into the water and cracked it open.

Amazingly, it worked. Instead of screeching, he could hear muffled singing. He quickly plunged his head under the water to listen.

He listened to it cycle through several times before he was sure that he’d memorized it all — obviously coming up for air as needed.

So the Second Task was going to be to retrieve something he’d “sorely miss” from the Black Lake with a time limit of an hour. No wonder Krum was going swimming. Testing out spells and getting familiar with the layout of the lake bottom, probably.

Harry would need to do the same, but not until he figured out what spells he wanted to use.

He was just glad that he’d figured it out when he had. Well, Luna had figured it out. Whatever. But he had almost two months to find and/or modify spells as needed. And to figure out what kind of critters lived in that lake besides the merfolk.

He’d need to be able to breathe, to see through the water and in the dark, to stay warm, and to move more quickly than he could swim. One hour wasn’t much to swim all over a lake, possibly fighting things along the way, and searching for something that he didn’t even necessarily know what it was. And he’d need a way to defend himself. Depending on what method he was using to breathe, he may or may not be able to speak spells. Using wandless magic would doubtlessly be best, but he wasn’t versed in much wandless defense.

That was probably a stupid oversight in general. Wandless magic had been an intellectual curiosity for him and something handy over the summer, but he hadn’t really considered it as a survival skill.

Merlin, sometimes he just pissed himself off. He wondered if he’d ever learn to think more strategically.

Harry spent the next couple of weeks enduring lessons, forcing himself to spend enough time on his essays to avoid Flitwick revoking their dueling lessons, and devoting almost every remaining second to researching spells for the Second Task. He wanted to start exploring the lake, but he needed some solid idea of what he planned to use for spells before he could go into the lake. It was the middle of winter, after all. His previous research into water spells was actually proving immensely helpful as it gave him a very good place to start. Spells to control and manipulate water would be hugely beneficial while he was in there.

He needed something to protect his eyes so that he could see clearly under the water. There seemed to be a couple of obvious solutions to that. One would be simply transfiguring a pair of goggles not unlike the muggles used. Another would be transfiguring himself a nictitating membrane, but they didn’t even touch human transfiguration until sixth year, so he knew it was advanced. And doubtlessly dangerous to tinker with. The last obvious one would be the bubblehead charm, which literally created a bubble of air around one’s head. Of course, the obvious problem with that one would be the buoyancy of the air bubble. Swimming around in the dark, icy water would be hard enough without his head trying to float away.

The best option seemed to be the transfigured goggles, but he’d have to make them just right so they’d fit over his glasses. Or he could see if it was possible to transfigure or charm them into functioning in place of his glasses. That might be better because he wouldn’t have to worry about his glasses sliding around or getting jostled under the water where he wouldn’t be able to fix them.

He’d need to look into the mechanics of it. If all else failed, he’d come back to the other options, but he could give this one at least a few weeks to decide how plausible it was.

The next problem was breathing while under the water. The obvious answer would be the bubblehead charm, but again, that had the buoyancy drawback. Surely there must be charms that people used for diving, right? The only other option he could think of off the top of his head would be something like the muggles used. He wondered if he could enchant something to produce air that he could put in or over his mouth.

Maybe he should investigate the bubblehead charm and figure out how that created the oxygen. It might be a good starting point, but he wanted to look for other magical methods of breathing underwater. They might have better ideas.

He needed to do something about the cold as well, though he’d save that worry for last. He had no problem with wandless, silent warming charms, after all. He could use those every few minutes during the task if necessary. He’d like a better solution, but effective methods of seeing and breathing took precedence.

That just left him the problem of propulsion. He needed to move faster than he could swim. He didn’t think that one would be too difficult with the water manipulation spells he already knew.

Oh, and maybe tracking spells. He’d need to be able to find what he was looking for, after all. That would only work if he actually found out what they’d taken. Or maybe not. Magic, after all. There may be a spell to locate things important to a person even if they didn’t have a specific item in mind.

Something to think about.

In between trying to solve these problems though, he was also faced with school. Trying to keep his mind on lessons during lessons and bothering with reading about and writing essays about spells and such that seemed enormously insignificant at the moment. Even spells that he’d normally have found at least mildly interesting were presently relegated to pointless if they had nothing to do with keeping him alive through the next task.

Flitwick was a wily one, though. He’d managed to find the very best possible incentive to make Harry pay attention to his marks. He was giving Harry extremely valuable dueling lessons in exchange for Harry keeping his grade up. He didn’t want to lose those.

And even worse, he wouldn’t just lose the lessons, he’d also gain mandatory, supervised study time in which he’d be expected to do classwork and nothing else. He dealt with enough enforced study time during actual lessons, thank you very much.

His Charms essays, at least, were much easier these days. Yes, he still had to do the associated reading, but then he could just explain things the way that made sense to him. He’d tried it on one of his Transfiguration essays, but McGonagall had just marked him down for not citing his sources. He somehow didn’t think she’d accept it if he cited himself as a source.

Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were a little easier. He was rather ahead in those classes, but he hadn’t studied the subject enough to have formed strong opinions that contradicted what the books said, at least. It was just bloody annoying to spend time writing out essays about things he knew just fine instead of learning more advanced material to help him in the task or even feed his general need to know for his personal interest.

Potions was rather tedious as well, though it helped that he knew Professor Snape never minded if he referenced advanced theory without citing sources.

And he felt somewhat indebted to the man for how he’d reacted to finding his illicit potions lab. He figured the least he could do to say thank you would be to actually put a bit of effort into his essays.

History was boring but straightforward. No complex theory to consider and Binns essays never asked thought-provoking questions. All he needed to do for that class was read the chapters in the books and paraphrase that into an essay. It was still tedious, but not as bad as many other classes.

Herbology still moved too slowly and made him want to work ahead just to learn more than the curriculum was meant to teach, but that meant that he was rarely focused on the lessons that the essays wanted him to focus on.

The dueling lessons with Professor Flitwick continued to be the best thing about his week. He was just learning so much! And it was all things that could literally save his life one day if someone attacked him, so he valued them very highly. They’d progressed through the basics now and were beginning to do drills, in which Flitwick would launch spells at him in a predetermined order and Harry would have to counter, shield, or evade them. Then he would slow down a little and send them in random order. It was all about building muscle memory and making the reactions to some of the most common spells automatic.

They’d work on more atypical spells and dealing with spells that he couldn’t recognize later, Flitwick had promised.

His Head of House had also taken to involving Harry a lot more in sensing the magic after their conversation when Harry had explained his disagreement with some of the things the book said. The professor had explained to Harry that the ability to sense magic clearly enough to understand what it was doing in such detail was rare.

Personally, Harry didn’t think most people were incapable of doing it. Just didn’t know how. He hadn’t known how until he’d started paying attention, after all. First with learning to cast wandless magic and then with spending untold hours studying everything he could glean of the magic while using it.

He didn’t say that though, because he knew professors didn’t like it when students told them they were wrong.

If he hadn’t been able to figure that out for himself, he need only notice their reactions to Hermione to know it was true. The girl didn’t seem to see it, but he didn’t think any of the professors really _liked _her despite her being so studious and always paying attention.

The next Hogsmeade weekend was in the middle of January and Luna and Harry decided they were going to go this time. It was really Luna’s idea, but she’d sold him on it pretty quickly. He’d been working himself to the bone since he’d learned what the Second Task would be and Luna had suggested that it would be a good distraction. Both seeing the village and the sneaking out bit, since he still wasn’t permitted to visit the village.

Thankfully, Luna was permitted to go and Harry had his invisibility cloak. There was some snow on the ground, but it was trampled enough by other students going to the village that it was no difficulty for Harry to walk by Luna all the way into the village.

They just walked around the village for the first hour or so. Luna had been a couple of times with her parents when she was younger and once with her dad shortly before starting Hogwarts, but Harry had never seen it before. The old-fashioned buildings were pretty cool, and Luna stepped into any shop he found interesting to fetch him an owl order catalog. Unfortunately, it was just too crowded for Harry to move about in the shops while invisible without having someone bump into him, and his face was far too well known to think he could remove the cloak and not be immediately recognized.

Between being the Boy-Who-Lived and the Hogwarts Champion in the tournament, his face had been in the papers a lot recently. There was no way word of his appearance in Hogsmeade wouldn’t get back to the teachers. His luck, it’d probably end up in the Prophet.

It was a good distraction from his everyday stress though. Luna had been right about that.

When lunchtime rolled around, they decided that Luna would get them some food at the Three Broomsticks and they’d eat it picnic style. They ended up near the Shrieking Shack since not many students ventured near the supposedly haunted old house. It didn’t seem all that scary to Harry and Luna wasn’t worried, which he figured said a lot.

They ate in leisure and Harry discovered that he really liked butterbeer.

It was as they were cleaning up from their meal that Luna finally spoke up. Her gaze was as distant as it usually was, but her voice sounded wary and her body looked a little tense. “Do you remember that day we had lunch outside and we first saw Krum swimming in the lake?” she asked quietly.

“Yes, of course,” Harry replied, sitting back to watch her. That had been the day they’d solved the puzzle of the egg. It was also the one and only time he’d seen her have a vision. Of course, he remembered. He suspected that she knew that as well.

“You remember my…” she cleared her throat before going on even more quietly, “vision.”

“I remember,” Harry promised. “Did you figure out what it meant?”

“Part of it,” she said softly, her eyes focusing to his left and up toward the cloudy sky. “I saw many possible events. Possible futures. Some were very bad. Some were pretty good. I don’t… understand it all. But to get away from the bad ones, I felt like we needed to be here today.” She almost winced as she said that last.

Harry took a breath and processed that. She had manipulated him to get him here. All that talk of needing a break, and oh let’s have a picnic, and why not by the Shrieking Shack, no one goes up there… It had all been orchestrated to get him here.

To avoid the bad futures.

He took another breath, this one deeper, and held it a few seconds before blowing it out. “Okay,” he said at last. “I understand, I guess, but don’t do this again, Luna.”

She finally looked at him, her dreamy eyes clear and troubled.

“I mean, it’s fine if you think we need to be somewhere or not be somewhere,” he explained, remembering clearly just why they’d needed to sit with Lupin on the train last year. One of both of them might have lost their soul had they not. “I don’t mind that, Luna, but just tell me next time. I want the truth, okay? Even if you don’t know how to explain.”

Luna let out a breath she’d apparently been holding and sagged a bit where she was sitting. “Okay, Harry. I’m sorry.”

He nodded and hoped that was the end of it. He never knew how to deal with it when his _own_ emotions were involved, much less someone else’s.

“Thank you,” she said after a moment of silence.

“It’s fine,” Harry dismissed, even though he knew she was thanking him for more than not getting mad this time. He went back to cleaning up and she followed suit.

“Do you er… know why?” he finally questioned as he banished the last scrap of napkin.

Luna was silent a moment, her eyes focused on where her fingers fiddled with a bit of her skirt. “It’s to do with you. Not me,” she said at last, looking and sounding like she still expected him to be upset. “I don’t know why.”

Harry sighed and looked around the little clearing the Shrieking Shack was centered in. Was there something he was meant to see? Or perhaps it was something they were avoiding elsewhere? Probably no point in speculating, he supposed. He’d find out or he wouldn’t.

“Well then,” he decided, “might as well be comfortable.” With that he pivoted on the blanket, situating himself in the right spot, then laid down, his head pillowed on his hands. He crossed his ankles, then glanced over at Luna.

There was a huge smile curving her lips, showing a row of bright white teeth. Then she too turned and laid down, copying Harry’s posture.

For maybe ten minutes they just laid there, watching the fluffy blanket of clouds drift overhead. Luna hummed one of her soft tunes, this one sounding particularly happy. Harry let his mind wander to some of the problems he’d been working to rectify for the Second Task.

Somehow when he was surrounded by texts and parchment and arithmancy tables and rune dictionaries, this felt incredibly stressful, but laying here now with Luna, bathed in warming charms Harry couldn’t help but find it calming. He let his mind drift through some of the less likely possibilities, not feeling pressured to focus on the more likely ones.

This sense of peace was likely why he managed to miss the sound of approaching footsteps until they’d entered the clearing.

He bolted into an upright position, hand closing over his invisibility cloak at his side, but he knew it was too late to avoid being seen. Then his eyes settled on the interloper, who’d stopped at Harry’s sudden movement.

For several seconds, they just stared at each other. Then Harry fully processed the figure before him and, naturally, he blushed.

Alaric Avery looked every bit as stunning as the last time Harry had seen him. His robes were both attractive and refined, the dark colors making him stand out like a beacon against the snowy landscape.

Luna sat up at Harry’s side and immediately said, “Oh, that’s why.”

Harry tore his gaze away from Alaric, who was starting slowly toward them now. He stared at her in disbelief, but she just shrugged and climbed to her feet. He hesitated a moment more before following her lead in standing up. Alaric clearly meant to talk to them and Harry would prefer to be standing for it.

“Mr. Potter,” Alaric smiled. “I was hoping that was you.”

Harry frowned a bit at that. Of course, if Luna brought them here just so Alaric could find them it maybe wasn’t that surprising, but Harry felt suspicious anyway. Why would the young man want to talk to Harry again, after all. None of the reasons that came to mind said anything particularly favorable about the man.

“Fancy meeting you here…” he said uncertainly, willing his cheeks to stop being so red.

It wasn’t working.

Alaric’s smile warmed a touch. “I admit, I had hoped I might run into you when I made the trip to the village today.” The man was almost obscenely _not _embarrassed about the mild stalking.

“Why?” Harry blurted out, then silently cursed himself in the most expressive terms he could think up for sounding like an idiot. Merlin, why did he devolve into Utter Stupidity the moment Alaric got within five meters of him? _Why?_ He felt worse than Ron Weasley trying to talk to Delacour right now.

Blessedly, Alaric ignored Harry’s awkwardness once again. “I confess, I find you very interesting. I wondered if we might talk for a little while?” The man actually looked bloody hopeful that Harry would say yes. It was mind-boggling.

Luna, meanwhile, had rolled up their blanket and stuffed it into her expanded shoulder bag. “I need to be getting back to the castle, Harry,” she said, casual as can be. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget Flitwick later!” She called the last over her shoulder as she was already skipping away in the direction of the castle.

Harry clenched his jaw to avoid it falling as he watched as his one and only friend abandoned him to talk alone to the unfairly pretty Alaric. This is why she’d brought them here in the first place, Harry remembered.

It just didn’t make any sense. How was him talking to Alaric for a few minutes supposed to prevent something bad in the future? Did Alaric have something important to tell him? Or an idea for the Second Task? Or maybe they just needed to know each other for some reason?

No wonder he and Luna usually didn’t talk about this stuff. It was probably better to let her worry about the why and just do what she said.

He turned his gaze back to Alaric, he was watching him curiously.

“I hadn’t realized the Prophet had been accurate about your having a girlfriend,” is how the young man chose to start.

Harry blushed three times hotter in response. “I don’t… She’s not…” he took a breath and forced himself to conjure a sentence before trying to speak. “She’s just a friend,” he said at last. “My only friend.” And why in Merlin’s name had he added that last bit? _Way to sound like a loser, Potter._

“I see,” Alaric said and he must have noticed how ridiculous Harry was, but he still wasn’t acting like it, which was nice, but mildly suspicious. “Would you care to walk with me?” he inquired.

“Er…” Harry faltered. “I not, er… actually supposed to be out of the castle. So I can’t, er… actually walk around much. That is… visibly.” He quickly scooped up his invisibility cloak and stuffed it into his expanded shoulder bag, then slung the bag over his shoulder.

“You have an invisibility cloak?” Alaric asked with interest.

“Family heirloom,” Harry shrugged.

Alaric’s brow furrowed at that for a moment before he seemed to dismiss it. “So why aren’t you supposed to be here? Were you restricted due to bad behavior?” the last had a teasing lilt to it that managed to fall short of mocking, thankfully.

Harry gave kind of half a smile that trembled and didn’t really work because Alaric’s lips were unfairly distracting every single time he spoke. “No,” and his laugh came out sounding demented, but he pushed on, no hope for getting less stupid through hesitation. “I never got the permission slip signed, so…”

“Your… guardians refused?” he inquired curiously.

“Er, no. I don’t actually stay with my… guardians anymore. I stay with Luna’s family in summer. So… no chance for them to sign.”

Alaric was silent a long moment as he seemed to mull that over before, blessedly, changing the subject, “Well, perhaps we can stay here and talk for a bit?” he suggested instead.

Harry shrugged because he wasn’t about to say no to staying in Alaric’s proximity awhile longer, but neither would he pretend that he knew how to keep a conversation with him going.

Alaric took that as agreement, it seemed, because he drew his wand and gave it an elegant little wave without uttering a sound.

Harry stiffened as he felt the magic flow from Alaric to his bidding. It moved and worked with an incredible efficiently. Vastly different from anything he’d ever felt before. Smooth and sure, direct to the purpose. Harry’s own magic often seemed to be feeling it’s way, learning what it wanted and how it wanted to go about it. The magic of other students often felt forced and uncertain, stumbling about in the dark of their lack of perception. Even the teachers’ magic didn’t feel like this. This magic was all confidence and elegance and efficiency. It did exactly as was needed with the smallest amount of effort possible, as though he’d practiced this spell hundreds or thousands of times, but even more than that. It wasn’t just this spell. It was just the magic.

Merlin, even Alaric’s magic was breathtaking.

“Shall we sit?”

The question startled Harry out of his stupor and he blinked to realize that while he’d been drooling over the man’s magic, it had conjured an elegant two-seater bench right where he and Luna had been relaxing.

Harry blushed right down to his hair when he realized that he’d been caught staring at nothing like an utter boob. “Yes. Yeah,” he nodded, then sighed at his own redundancy as he sat, keeping as close as possible to the armrest so that Alaric had plenty of space.

The young man did not bother to be so fastidious with his space, so they still ended up uncomfortably close together. But, you know, uncomfortable in the best way.

“Um, so when did you graduate?” Harry managed to ask after a few moments of sitting silently.

“I’m eighteen,” he answered, “but I took my NEWTs at the ministry last year.”

“You didn’t go to Hogwarts?” Harry asked, curious enough to almost forget his awkwardness for a moment.

“I did not. It was easier to just take the tests.”

Harry nodded because that made sense. It would be easier for him too if he didn’t require somewhere to live. And he supposed he’d miss Luna if she was going to Hogwarts and he wasn’t.

“How do you like Hogwarts?” Alaric prompted after a moment.

“Oh,” Harry muttered, surprised by the question, though maybe he shouldn’t have been. “It’s all right, I guess.”

“What’s the worst part about it?”

“The classes,” Harry answered automatically, which seemed to startle a brief laugh out of Alaric. Harry blushed deeply, embarrassed by saying something so silly. He shrugged in a useless effort to negate or at least soften his answer.

“What’s so bad about the classes?” Alaric pondered.

“They’re _boring_,” Harry admitted sheepishly. “We spend ages on every spell and they give us like months to read the theory and then go through it all in class anyway. And then we have to write a bunch of essays about stuff that we read about _and_ discussed in class and practiced in class.”

“That sounds tedious,” Alaric nodded, looking amused, but not mocking. Amazingly. “Do you hate all the classes?”

“Potions isn’t so bad,” Harry reluctantly confessed. “It’s good to get to practice new techniques. And Professor Snape rarely spends much time lecturing. And potions are really useful. Why do you want to know any of this?” that last he blurted out inadvertently, then tipped his head down toward his knees in some vain hope of hiding his embarrassment.

“I find you interesting,” Alaric said softly. Kindly.

“But why?” Harry couldn’t help but demand, looking back up, too worked up to lose himself in the man’s dark chocolate eyes that were looking at him like he really was interesting. “Is it because I’m the Boy-Who-Lived because I didn’t really kill the Dark Lord, you know? I was just a baby. That’s impossible. Even with magic, that doesn’t make sense. And I’m not some kind of messiah or whatever. I have no plans to lead anyone into anything.”

If anything, Alaric just looked more interested despite Harry nearly shouting at him in his fervor.

“I find it interesting that you’re in Ravenclaw,” Alaric admitted, “when everyone would have guessed Gryffindor. I find it interesting that your reputation has you antisocial rather than glorying in your fame. I find it interesting that you were chosen as the Hogwarts Champion despite being fourteen years old. I also find it interesting that you are clearly brilliant, yet seem more comfortable concealing the fact.

“I find it interesting Mr. Potter, that you question my interest as you do. That you are so eager to distance yourself from anything and everything that may make the average witch or wizard want to get closer to you.”

Harry stared in disbelief as Alaric listed all of that. He had no idea what to say when the man was done because he’d clearly read this very wrong.

“Does my interest meet with your approval?” Alaric inquired when Harry was quiet too long.

“Er… Yes,” Harry replied for lack of literally anything else in his head.

Another moment of silence passed before Harry finally became aware that it was becoming rather chilly with his warming charms wearing off. He lifted his right hand, first three fingers extended, and thoughtlessly willed warmth into the air surrounding them.

“Did you just…” he heard a second later and blinked up at Alaric before realizing what he meant.

“Oh, the warming charm?” Harry blushed. “Yeah. I learned that last summer.”

“Wandless casting?” And now that interest was back in Alaric’s eyes multiplied by a hundred.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeah. It’s actually really fascinating. The way that magic works? You don’t actually need a wand, you know? It just makes it easier.”

“I know,” Alaric said quietly, some emotion in his voice that Harry couldn’t name, but it didn’t sound bad, really. He lifted his hand and gave a little wiggle of his fingers and a small gout of flame licked from his hand.

Harry absently recognized the spell from his own study into fire spells. It was one that made a small, hot fire often used for lighting a fireplace or campfire. Again, Harry’s focus went to the magic rather than the effect, though. Alaric’s magic was utterly unlike anything Harry had ever felt before. Even with such small spells, he could tell that it was incredibly powerful. Like the gentle breath of a mighty dragon, there was simply enormity to it. And there was such finesse. As though the magic had never had to struggle to accomplish anything. Like everything came to it as naturally as breathing.

“Can you cast anything else wandlessly?” Alaric’s question drew him from his contemplation of the man’s utterly majestic magic.

“Oh, yeah. Loads.” He blushed when he realized he sounded like he was boasting and he amended, “Well, not _loads, _I guess. I’ve sort of been studying it? I mean, magic? Because wandless magic feels different… Or, I mean, it feels so much _more _than wanded magic, so I’ve been kind of trying to understand it better, so I’ve been learning wandless spells kind of in groups of what seems like similar magic?” Why was everything a question? He didn’t know. It just kept coming out that way because he kind of felt stupid about everything he was saying, he supposed.

“What sorts of spells have you learned?” Alaric wondered, dark eyes shining with actual interest in Harry and not just because of something he didn’t do as a baby.

Harry blushed as he answered, “Er, well, I started with lumos, of course. That was my first spell that I learned wandlessly, and then the warming charm because we spent the summer in Australia and it gets really cold down there in July. And then I kind of learned a bunch of different spells because I was trying to understand the difference. Er, the levitation charm and the floating charm, simple transfigurations, some Defense spells. And then I started getting more methodical about it and I decided to try focusing on just fire spells, so I learned a mess of those. And then I moved onto water spells, which is what I was working on when this whole tournament mess started. Since then, I’ve mostly been trying to learn spells that I think might keep me alive.”

“I had heard that you hadn’t wanted to compete,” Alaric said more soberly.

“Of course not!” Harry cried. “Why would I want to do something so stupid? There’s a million ways to make money and I have a trust vault with enough to get me through school just fine. It’s not worth risking my life!”

“And the glory of your school?” Alaric asked with some wry amusement.

Harry huffed, “Like fame’s good for anything but trouble. Everyone only cares about me because of that stupid lie they all believe, but no matter how much they claim to care, no one ever cared when I was stuck with my ‘relatives’ for a decade.” He couldn’t help but sneer the word “relatives”. “I’d much rather everyone just ignored me completely.”

“Even me?” Alaric asked with a small smile, though something really wondering in his eyes.

Harry blinked and hesitated a second before shaking his head. “I guess not.” A curl of bravado had him adding, “At least, not yet,” with a wry smile.

Alaric’s smile widened in response. “Well, I shall strive to keep such a lofty opinion intact. In hope of such, perhaps we should return our conversation to your studies into magic. What have you learned so far?”

With relief at the easy topic, Harry began explaining to Alaric his conjectures regarding the nature of magic versus the conception of magic purported by Hogwarts and every theory book he’d found.

Alaric, a fellow practitioner of wandless magic, actually had a lot of insight into the topic and mostly seemed to agree with Harry about the arbitrary nature of the modern spell classification system.

The topic was so engaging, in fact, that Harry completely lost himself in it. He cast several more warming charms as necessary but didn’t notice the passage of time until twilight began to settle around them.

“Merlin,” he mumbled on finally noticing and cast a quick wandless tempus to confirm it was half four. He had barely an hour and a half to get back to the castle, eat dinner, and get the Flitwick’s class for their weekly lesson. “I really need to get going.”

“Of course,” Alaric said as they both stood. “Would it be all right with you if I wrote to you?”

Harry blinked in surprise at the question, then blushed bright with pleasure. “I’d like that,” he admitted and he really, really would. Yes, Alaric was unbelievably pretty and his magic was just completely beautiful, but so much more than any of that, Harry had _never _in his entire _life_, talked so much, so long, and with so much pleasure as he had today. Even with Luna they spent more time in silence despite their occasional conversations. He loved the time they spent together, but talking with Alaric had been energizing. Enthralling. Stimulating. Alaric hadn’t only been interested in what Harry had had to say, he’d had intelligent input and his own conjectures that sometimes challenged Harry’s own, but never made less of them.

Harry was about to turn to leave when a strange idea suddenly hit him and before he could think twice about it, he found himself saying, “I’m only fourteen, you know?” because Alaric had been treating him like he was older and though Harry had no experience with it, it almost seemed like the young man was _interested_ in him. Like in _that _way. The moment the words are out of his mouth, he blushed horribly because how dense could he really be to think that Alaric would like him _like that_?

But instead of laughing or mocking the presumption in his statement, Alaric just returned a mysterious smile and slyly replied, “The legal age for marriage in Magical Britain is fifteen.”

Harry’s jaw worked for a moment with no sound making it out before he stumbled out an awkward goodbye and nearly ran for it, flinging his invisibility cloak around himself as he went.

He spent the entire walk back to the castle repeatedly running that last bit through his head and trying to decide if Alaric had been joking. Surely he must have been, right? But then it might make sense of his “interest” if it was that kind of interest. Except that who would really be interested in him? He was scrawny, with ugly glasses and impossible hair and no social skills at all.

He went back and forth all the way into the school and through dinner, only pushing the thought away entirely when he entered Flitwick’s office.

He went to bed that night desperately hoping that Alaric would write soon, though he couldn’t decide if he wanted the young man to entirely ignore that last bit of their conversation or explain what he meant. He was sure though that if Alaric didn’t bring it up, there was no chance he’d ever be brave enough to mention it again.

Merlin, as though his life wasn’t complicated enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Harry's so confused.

**Author's Note:**

> In the spirit of fanfiction, I believe in share and share alike, so if you find yourself inspired by this work and would like to write an AU, use plot or concepts I've created, or even my OCs, please feel free to do so. I would love it if you linked my story as inspiration, or even just left a comment mentioning any works you've posted that were inspired by my stories as I'd love to read them and help others to find them, but it's not absolutely necessary.


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